


Blood Runs Cold

by Smalls2233



Series: Bad Decisions [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Manipulative Peter, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2020-12-24 07:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 111,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalls2233/pseuds/Smalls2233
Summary: “So then why are we letting Scott and Derek search for it if you know it's useless?”Peter looked down at Stiles and cocked his head with a grin. “Because I think seeing my nephew and your best friend run around like headless chickens while I think up a plan is hysterical.”“And the plan is…?”----Trusting Peter Hale is something that Stiles had repeatedly told himself to never do. He had seen first hand the results of Peter's plans and schemes, but when a shadow began tormenting Beacon Hills, he found that sometimes he'd have to to play along with Peter's games.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles had never regretted turning down the bite. Yeah, it would have been nice to gain a semblance of grace, but he’s had to deal with enough shit while still being human. He didn’t need to tack on the extra bullshit coming after him that being turned would have added. Tack on all of the incredibly gross details about being a werewolf that Scott liked to tell him whether he wanted to hear or not, and yeah, he was pretty damn happy being human.

Until being human meant he had to stay at Derek’s loft alone with Peter who had politely declined to assist Derek and Scott tackle what felt like the fifth new monster that decided to terrorize Beacon Hills that week. Not only that but Peter seemed determined to stick with Stiles.

The monster (or monsters, nobody was entirely sure how many were out there) was targeting regular people so Stiles got why he was staying behind. Hell, even having a bodyguard seemed reasonable. But for Peter...

“I’ve already had my neck ripped out once for you.” Peter inspected his nails and said with a sardonic laugh, “Or, by you, I suppose. Wasn’t very fun, I don’t recommend it. Which is why I will not be participating in your little fun run.” He leaned against the wall and raised an eyebrow at Derek and Scott who looked to be silently fuming. “I’ll keep a watch on our precious, delicate little Stiles and make sure nothing hurts him.”

Yeah. If he had accepted the bite, Peter wouldn’t have been roping him in with a crushing side hug.

“I think I’d be safer out there than in here,” Stiles gasped out, trying unsuccessfully to pry himself free of Peter’s grip. He would have assumed he was imagining it was getting tighter the more he struggled if he didn’t know well enough by that point that Peter did it on purpose because he thought it was hysterical.

God he hated this guy.

“Peter—“ Derek started.

“Do you really think I’d hurt a hair on his head, Derek?” Yup, that was absolutely the feeling of a rib cracking right there. “There’s a gang of man eaters out there, I can’t be the only one concerned for Stiles’ safety.”

“Or you’re just a coward,” Scott murmured under his breath.

Peter’s lips twitched as he loosened his grip on Stiles enough to let him gasp in a few desperate breaths. “Careful, puppy, or else I might start worrying you didn’t like me.”

“We’re going.” Derek wrapped a hand around Scott’s shoulder and forced him out the door. Stiles didn’t need werewolf super hearing to hear Scott’s growl from behind the closed door. 

The door keeping the world out and Peter in with him.

Great.

“Well that was fun.” Peter released Stiles and looked at him with pleased, narrowed eyes. “Scott’s still complaining to Derek, he’s saying some awfully rude things about me and my mother.”

“Now that you’ve had your fun, I’m going to do some research.” Stiles brushed passed him, biting his tongue to keep him from saying more. The best tool for dealing with Peter that Stiles had found was to not rise for his bait. Ignore him whenever possible and grunt out single syllable responses when not. 

“Research, Stiles? You’re going to waste a rare opportunity of being utterly alone with me to go through some musty tomes?” Yeah, there was the problem with dealing with Peter. No matter how much you ignored him, he’d still keep doing whatever the fuck he wanted. 

“Yup!” Stiles spun to look Peter in the eye with a fake grin plastered across his face. “Nothing sounds better!” There was no way in hell that he was going to go along with whatever manipulative bullshit that Peter was cooking up. The urge to just throw himself to the beast that was ripping out small intestines and hearts was growing the longer he looked at Peter’s stupid smug face.

“Wasted opportunity,” Peter muttered under his breath. Without another word, he stalked off to the couch in a way that seemed incredibly close to sulking and left Stiles alone to do his research into whatever was terrorizing the town that night.

Alone physically, at least. Stiles could feel the weight of his eyes on his back as he flipped through page after page. He wanted to be useful in some way and if Derek and Scott refused to help them find the beast, he could at least figure out what it was.

Unfortunately he didn’t have much to go off of beside the fact that it loved munching on hearts and intestines and could pry open the rib cage. His first instinct upon hearing about the guts thing was maybe a kappa. The issue was none of the other things it did matched and as far as he and Derek knew, kappas weren’t in California yet.

Stiles clicked his pen absentmindedly as he read through another page of something close, but still no cigar. Nothing was exactly right; some types of gnomes liked human hearts but they were physically frail, too weak to rip open rib cages, some ogres liked tearing apart the ribs but didn’t take any organs.

“You’re not going to find it in there.” Stiles nearly fell out of his chair when Peter suddenly appeared behind him.

“_ Jesus _,” Stiles gasped, clutching his heart like an old southern belle. “Could you Hales please, for once in your life, move like a regular person? Is that really too much to ask for?”

Peter ignored him. “Whatever’s out there, it’s not anything recorded in here. If you had talked with me, maybe you wouldn’t have had to waste your time.”

“Or you could’ve just told me.” Stiles slammed the book closed and spun around in the chair to face a painfully smug Peter. “You know, before letting me waste my time.”

Peter hummed and cleaned invisible dirt from his claws. Stiles stifled a groan when he saw the way the man had partially shifted, he was after some sort of reaction and Stiles refused to give it to him. “You made it quite clear that you didn’t want my help _ or _ my company. Even if I knew what it was, which I do actually — I’m very familiar with it.” He was absolutely up to something, it was painfully obvious yet Stiles was curious at that point. Curiosity killed the cat and all that, but Stiles just wanted to know what the damn thing that really wanted his tasty tasty heart was.

“So what is it?”

“Oh? I thought you didn’t want my help?” Peter laughed and gave Stiles’ head a few pats before wandering off, leaving a trail of smugness behind him. “I’ll give you a hint, since I like you,” he called over his shoulder as he headed back to his usual creeper perch of the stairs. “It’s got a horn.”

Stiles barely resisted the urge to throw one of the heavy books at the bastard.

——

“Are you going to tell me this time?” Another day of Scott and Derek hunting the rib breaking organ muncher meant another day being trapped in Derek’s loft with Peter. The cold dread he had felt the last time was replaced with annoyance. He knew Peter was petty and now that he knew Stiles was curious, he wasn’t going to just give him what he wanted.

Not without something in return. Now that? That was a thought that filled him with dread.

“I gave you a hint already, hasn’t your smart little overactive brain already run over every permutation of monsters with a single horn?” Peter narrowed his eyes and got way up into Stiles’ personal bubble. He tapped between Stiles’ eyebrows once, twice, and again with mercifully clawless fingers. “One horn, right here. Now, if you’d like to ask for my help, I could be persuaded to tell you some more.”

Stiles grit his teeth. “Peter, would you help me out here?”

Peter grinned, “What’s the magic word?”

Stiles stayed silent for a few moments until he watched Peter’s grin falter out into nothingness and was replaced by a scowl. A grin grew on his own lips, knowing that the werewolf was hearing something too distant for Stiles’ ears to pick up. 

Two could play at Peter’s bullshit games.

“Scott and Allison were _ so _worried about it only being the two of us here with an unknown murderous carnivore running around. After all, nobody has been able to figure out who or what it is. So we’ve got some backup to keep us company!” Stiles’ grin was wicked as he shoved his hands in his hoodie’s pockets and leaned against a pillar. “Who knows, maybe the backup can help out with my research.”

Stiles wished he had thought to have a camera ready to take a picture of Peter’s face when Chris walked through Derek’s front door. It took everything from Stiles not to howl in laughter at the sight of pure rage and disgust that covered Peter’s face for a few moments before he managed to partially recover his mask of smug indifference.

Stiles counted it as a victory.

“Well then.” Despite his attempt to calm his expression, Peter’s lips were drawn into a tight, thin line. “There is now one hunter too many within my general vicinity so it seems like a good time for me to take my leave.”

There was a threatening smile on Chris’s face, the type that felt more like a barring of teeth than anything else, as he clasped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Why don’t you stay and help us out, Peter?”

“Yeah,” Stiles grinned, walking over to stand next to Chris. “We’d love your help.”

Antagonizing Peter probably wasn’t a great idea, there were more than a few screws loose in his head and despite being weakened, he was still worlds stronger than Stiles was. But as loathe as Stiles was to admit it, Peter did seem to care about his safety on some level. It probably wasn’t for a good reason, Peter was absolutely looking for a way to fuck over Derek or Scott via him, but Stiles knew that he was safe-ish with the werewolf until then. 

And thankfully, Peter didn’t seem too directly murderous at the moment. His claws came out as he ripped Chris’s hand off of his shoulder but he didn’t make an attempt to tear out the man’s throat. “If you touch me again, Argent, I will rip your body apart into so many pieces that it will make what your sister did to my family look kind,” Peter said in a low voice, jaw tense. His eyes flashed a dangerous blue before he let his claws melt away.

“How about you cut the threats and tell me what’s ripping people open?” Chris looked unimpressed as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Oh there’s plenty of things ripping people open; surgeons, murderers, heavy machinery, animals, careless mistakes with sharp objects. I’m afraid that you’ll really need to be more specific than that.” So Peter had recovered enough to gain back his snark, lovely.

Chris stayed silent but fixed Peter with a look that made Stiles wonder if he was really about to watch a fight happen between an unstoppable force and an immovable object. The air felt charged with electricity as the two men stared at each other, waiting for their opposite to blink first.

Stiles fidgeted with his hoodie string as he watched, unable to keep his hands still. He wanted to speak up but didn’t want to tilt the scales in favor of one or the other. Obviously, Chris needed to be the victor so Peter would let them know whatever it was that he knew without Stiles debasing himself by begging. But still, it was fun to watch the two men duke it out. More fun than being alone and playing Peter’s little games.

“How much do you know of corruption, Argent?” Peter paused and cocked an eyebrow, “Besides the type that comes from humans corrupting their own families into a twisted shell of their former selves? I know you’re _ intimately _ familiar with that.”

Chris remained stony faced while Stiles flinched for him. “And you’re intimately familiar with grave dirt, Peter. I don’t suppose you’d like to reacquaint yourself with it?”

Peter smirked. “As much as I’d love to see all of you flounder around without me, I’m going to have to give you a rain check on that.”

Chris looked like he wanted to consider following his father’s loose adherence to the code and plunge a wolfsbane coated knife into Peter’s heart. Yet when he spoke, his tone was even. “Do you want me to beg?” He asked with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to let god knows how many people die until either Stiles or I beg for your help?”

“Do you really think I’m that heartless?”

“Yes,” Stiles said before Chris could speak. “We absolutely do.”

Chris flashed him a warning look.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Stiles you’re a smart boy — I’m not so sure about Argent — and I’ve given you all of the pieces you need to figure this out.” 

“You’ve told me two very vague things, Peter. Hell, I’m not even how I’m supposed to construe corruption because for all I know, it’s just you trying to pry open a barely healed wound to be a dick.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and down his face. “Really, it’s impressive how you can say so much garbage and expect everyone else to have to sift through it.”

“Stiles—“ Chris started.

“No, I’m not done here.” Stiles cut him off and stepped towards Peter. “Maybe if you’d just be helpful and clear for once in your undead life the rest of the pack wouldn’t hate you.” He shook his head and laughed. “Corruption? One horn? Are we looking for some bizarro world unicorn that instead of munching on flowers and sunshine prefers the taste of hearts and inte—“

Stiles stopped in his tracks and looked up at Peter and Chris. “It’s a corrupted unicorn, isn’t it?” He let out a half crazed laugh. “Either you’re royally fucking with me or a horse with a horn has been murdering and eating people.”

“Corrupted unicorn,” Chris murmured, scratching at his stubble. “Turning a creature that purifies lakes and cleanses sickness into a spreader of poison and disease.” He brushed past Peter and set his laptop down on a table. “The spell needed to do that would have an incredible cost.”

Peter smirked and pinched Stiles’ chin between two fingers. “See? I knew you’d figure it out, clever boy,” he said, shaking Stiles chin.

“If this thing is supposed to be spreading disease, why aren’t we, you know, seeing anything like that?” Stiles asked, trying unsuccessfully to jerk his head free of Peter’s grasp. “It’s eating organs and prying open ribs. I mean, that’s not good but it’s also not poisoning every water source in California and unleashing a plague upon the world.”

The sounds of Peter’s footsteps were loud when he started walking, forcing Stiles along with him as he refused to loosen his grip. “As the benevolent Mr. Argent has so kindly pointed out, I was dead and now I’m not. It came at a cost; your dear friend Lydia’s sanity, Derek’s blood, and finally, my strength.” Peter grabbed hold of a piece of steel and tightened his fist. When he released it, it was crumpled like a sheet of tin foil. “I’ve gained a portion of it back, but that took time and patience.”

Chris looked up from the laptop he was furiously typing on. “It’s eating organs and killing in order to regain its strength it lost in the ritual.”

“You know, it’s much more fun when Stiles is the one to pick up where I’m going with things.” Peter released Stiles’ chin just long enough for him to take a breath of relief before roping him in with a side hug and trailing a finger down his sternum.

“The corrupted unicorn will insert its horn right here,” he tapped at the bottom edge of Stiles’ sternum. “It’ll then raise its head and rip open the rib cage as easily as a hot knife cuts through butter. The heart is the first to be eaten, then the intestines. If it’s still hungry, it will move on to the liver, the kidneys, and then the lungs.” Each organ name was accompanied by a finger firmly stabbing Stiles in the torso. 

“And you’ve not told literally anyone about this yet why?” Stiles asked, trying to break free of Peter’s embrace. “Because to me this sounds like a pretty goddamn big problem. You know, with the potential for this thing to become crazy powerful and spread some sort of nasty evil unicorn disease?”

“Because none of us would be able to kill it and I didn’t want to waste my time nor breath.”

“He’s right, as much as I hate to admit it.” Chris stopped typing and motioned Peter and Stiles towards him. “With a spell like this, killing the caster is easier.”

“So then why are we letting Scott and Derek search for it if it's useless?”

Peter looked down at Stiles and cocked his head with a grin. “Because I think seeing my nephew and your best friend run around like headless chickens while I think up a plan is hysterical.”

“And the plan is…?”

“Another reason why I would rather Scott not learn the truth.” Peter tightened his grip on Stiles as he spoke, a clear enough message to keep quiet. “His ‘everyone can be saved oh I’m just a beacon of hope and purity who would never kill’ true alpha schtick would get in the way. Just like our lovely werewolf hunter here said, killing the caster of the spell is the best solution.”

That made sense, Stiles loved Scott but knew how much he balked at the idea of killing. It wasn’t like Stiles thought murder was the first solution to every problem, but sometimes a death or two was necessary. “So how do we find him?” Stiles asked while he tried to pry Peter’s arm off of him. “And why aren’t we telling anyone else?”

“Isaac would tell Scott immediately, as would Allison, Derek would try and martyr himself to save everyone else from the risk, Lydia isn’t going to be taking down any incredibly strong casters, and I don’t trust Argent, yet unfortunately you decided to try and spite me so he’s here now I suppose.” Peter fixed Chris with an icy glare. “Here’s a rule I like to live my life by; don’t mix with hunters. Derek broke that rule and I nearly burnt to death while damn near the rest of my family died. Scott broke that rule and it nearly ended with several of Derek’s betas dead.”

“I’m not a hunter anymore,” Chris said quietly. “I didn’t even want to come back to this life after Victoria…” he trailed off, choked up, but he regained his composure quickly and looked up at Peter. “What Kate did wasn’t my fault, Gerard’s crimes aren’t mine. All I’ve ever wanted to do was protect people, every choice I’ve made was to keep people safe.”

He stood up and frowned at Peter. “I won’t lie, if you ever make me think that you’re a threat to the safety of this town, I will kill you. Not because you’re a werewolf, not because I’m a hunter, but because you’re endangering people.”

Chris looked tired and old, as if everything that had happened since he came to Beacon Hills had aged him well beyond his years. “I know you want something with Stiles and there’s some greater scheme going on in your mind. But right now, there’s something out there that’s slaughtering people with the potential to get worse. Whether either of us like it or not, I’m going to help you here.”

Peter stayed silent for a moment as he appraised Chris with narrowed eyes. “Take Stiles to Deaton and tell him about the corruption spell. Ask him to give what’s on this list.”

Peter handed Chris a folded sheet of paper and Chris took it with a curt nod. Stiles tried to take a look at whatever was written down, but Peter held him back.

“So where are you going then?” Stiles asked, frowning. 

Peter smirked as he released him. “I’m going back to my apartment and going to sleep while you do the legwork for me.”

God _ damn _he really hated Peter.

——

When they were out of werewolf hearing range, Chris looked over to Stiles and asked, “Do you want me to call Scott?”

Stiles sighed and shook his head. “I feel like I’m going to vomit from even thinking this but Peter is right.” He tapped his hands anxiously on his knees and stared out the window, watching the shadows of trees in the night zoom past. “I hate hiding things from Scott but this is… it’s necessary, I think.”

“I agree, unfortunately,” Chris said. He watched the road in front of him for a minute, jaw working as he thought. “Peter has his own goal here and it somehow revolves around you, but I can’t figure it out.”

Stiles laughed quietly, “Neither can I, most of the time when we’re alone together, he ignores me until I either ramble my way into the right path or piss him off.” The tempo of his tapping quickened, trying to keep pace with his racing mind. “I’d say maybe he genuinely cares but it’s Peter and, at the end of the day, he only cares about himself.”

Chris’s eyes flickered over to him briefly before settling back on the road. He looked like he wanted to say something before he barely caught himself. Instead he asked, “How about we pick up Lydia?”

Stiles knew that Chris had wanted to say something else. He wanted to ask if only to satisfy his own curiosity but at the same time, he trusted that Chris had his own reasons for holding his tongue. It was funny, honestly, the way he found himself trusting Chris after the hell he put Scott and everyone through for months. 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Stiles nodded even though he really wanted to ask _ should we really be trusting Peter _? He couldn’t manage to say the words, didn’t want to think that maybe Peter was trying to just do the right thing in his own way.

If Chris could tell that Stiles had wanted to say more, he gave no indication. The respect went both ways, Stiles guessed. He just gave a slight nod and turned the radio on to a low hum, covering up the thoughtful silence that hung over the two of them. Stiles could only assume that Chris was thinking about his sister, Peter had been the one to give her the death blow after all.

Even if she had been totally nuts — and she was, Stiles had no kind words to say about her — Peter had still ripped her throat out and Chris had been powerless to stop him. The two had stayed distant from each other, even when they both came into uneasy unions with the pack. Stiles knew that if he hadn’t asked Chris to join him that evening, Chris wouldn’t have entertained the thought of assisting the werewolf for even the briefest of moments.

Stiles sighed and rested his head against the passenger side window. He wanted to turn his brain off for five minutes. With everything going on, the last thing he needed was his overactive mind to send him into a panic attack as he thought about the risk he was dragging Chris into and now Lydia as well. Like cool! Apparently what they’re up against is someone who can cast an incredibly costly spell and also his pet poisonous, incredibly strong evil unicorn. Oh and Peter doing whatever the hell he wanted.

The more he tried not to focus on all of it, the more he did exactly that. Scott and Derek were out with Isaac hunting something that could probably kill them all. His dad was probably in danger. Everyone was in danger. It was all—

“Stiles.” A firm hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts and he looked over to see Chris staring at him. There was worry in his eyes and his voice was gentle. “We’re here, can you get Lydia?”

Stiles blinked a few times and shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I— yeah, yeah of course. I’ll be right back.” He hopped out of the car while he took a few deep breaths and shook out an adderall pill, swallowing it dry and grimacing at the artificial, sickly sweet taste it left on his tongue. 

Slowly, Stiles walked up to Lydia’s front door and used the brief time to clear his mind. Scott, Isaac, and Derek would be fine, he had to tell himself that at least. Whatever plan Peter was cooking up, Stiles could deal with the aftermath.

He had been through so much shit already, he could handle Peter’s schemes. All he needed to do was to calmly explain to Lydia what was going on. 

“Lydia,” he called as he loudly pounded on the door. “Lydia, we could really use you r—“

Mid knock, Lydia ripped open the door, dressed in a tank top and shorts with her hair dripping wet. Stiles immediately averted his eyes and tried to look anywhere but where the thin fabric had turned translucent from her wet hair. “Stiles it’s ten o’clock at night,” Lydia hissed. “Please tell me whatever it is that you’re doing here is life or death enough to justify this.”

Cool so he hadn’t planned for this massive disruptor to his pre panic-mode brain.

Stiles inhaled deeply before, in a single breath, he blurted out, “Okay so Lydia we really need you right now. You know that thing that’s killing all these people? Well it’s some type of corrupted unicorn so now Chris and I are about to go to Deaton to get some mystical herb things or whatever from him so we can find the person who corrupted the unicorn and kill him because if we don’t it’s going to keep getting worse and then it’ll start spreading disease and polluting all the water around us and then we’re all gonna die also we can’t tell anyone else because if we do Scott will probably find out and then try to redeem the caster when we really, _ really _ need to just snap the dick’s neck and be done with it.”

He explained it super calmly, he’d never seen anything explained more calmly before in his life. The epitome of calm and collected, that’s what Stiles was at that moment.

Lydia blinked and opened her mouth, something Stiles barely noticed because he was trying incredibly hard to keep his eyes on the cobweb by the door and far away from droplets of water were falling down Lydia’s chest. 

“We?” She had her ‘I’m still trying to process what the hell you just said’ tone of voice going on. “Who’s we, Stiles?”

“Me, Chris, and,” Stiles said with a wince. “Uh, Peter, the three of us.”

“Peter?”

“Yes.”

“Peter Hale?”

“Yup.”

“Derek’s uncle?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The same Peter Hale who used me as a puppet to bring him back to life?”

“Holy shit, for the millionth time,” Stiles ripped his eyes away from the cobweb and stared at Lydia in the eyes. “Yes, the same psychotic whackjob Peter Hale who fucked over so much shit in this town now has some scheme brewing to stop this. Now are you going to help us or not?”

Lydia smirked, “Oh I was planning on helping as soon as you started your word vomit, I just wanted you to actually look me in the eyes first before I agreed.”

“_ Lydia _,” Stiles groaned. “For fuck’s sake could you pull this shit literally any other night?”

The wink and door that was shut in his face seemed like a pretty solid no and Stiles started to second guess his decision to get her involved. She was beautiful, wicked smart, incredibly talented, and wearing so very little but— 

Stiles’ groan grew more pained as his mind wandered back to the sight of her, freshly showered and in pajamas. He really, _ really _didn’t want to keep thinking about it. Yeah, he’s had a crush on her for as long as he could remember but he also really valued her as a friend and didn’t want to think of the way her wet shirt showed—

“I’m just going to wait in the car then,” he called through the door in a strained tone. As he jogged back down to Chris’s SUV, he tried to clear his mind with as many non-dream girl in wet shirt thoughts as he could. Apparently he was doomed to hyperfocus on either the fact that Beacon Hills was royally screwed if they didn’t fix things or beautiful, soaking wet girls.

“You okay?” Chris asked when Stiles ripped open the door and flung himself in the car. “You look terrible in a completely different way than how you did when you left the car.”

Stiles ran a hand down his face and slumped over in the seat. “Lydia fucking Martin and taking showers at night are going to be the death of me.”

Chris had the audacity to laugh at him.

——

Deaton seemed entirely unfazed at the explanation of what Peter had theorized was behind the attacks. Stiles didn’t know why he was surprised, seeing the Druid shaken was a rare sight. It made sense that he would take in the news that “You know that pearly white horse that little girls love to fawn over? Yeah someone made it evil and wants to use it to poison the west coast,” with the same grace that he’d take in seeing a dog with an upset tummy.

Stiles’ lips twitched in amusement as he thought that maybe the doc would be more upset by the sick dog.

“Can you get me these ingredients?” Chris asked, there was no humor on his face. He had the serious look of a hunter about to start the hunt and Stiles was incredibly happy that he and his friends were not Chris’s desired prey anymore. “Peter wrote this up god knows how long ago and it’s probably meant for some spell.”

Deaton took a moment to read through the list and he hummed in thought. “How familiar with magic are you, Chris?” He set the piece of paper down and started grabbing various vials and bottles from shelves and drawers. 

“I prefer technology, personally.”

Deaton nodded, he probably expected that response. “You know the basics, I’d assume? Mountain ash and the like?” The bottle he had in his hands was absolutely not mountain ash, but Stiles wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

“Obviously.”

“Lydia could you help me out here for a moment?” The Druid looked up and motioned to her with a hand. “I’ll need some of your blood, if that’s okay.”

“Listen, doc,” Lydia started nervously. “Last time Peter did anything that involved both magic and me, I was hallucinating him, drugged all my friends, and resurrected him from the dead. So you understand why I’d be more than a little hesitant to do something like this?”

Deaton grabbed a syringe. “You won’t be tied to this spell at all, I just need some supernatural blood to activate it.”

“You know the spell Peter is trying to do?” Stiles asked. “I looked over the list in the car and it was just a bunch of shit, it didn’t say anything about a specific spell.”

“I’d be a pretty bad Druid if I couldn’t figure out what spell Peter was trying to do.” Deaton grabbed some alcohol wipes. “Lydia I’m not going to force you, but are you willing to do this? I promise you that nothing bad will happen to you because of this spell.”

Lydia nodded, a tiny little movement, so Deaton continued as he wiped down her arm. “He probably wanted to put it together himself — or rather, have you do it Stiles, since you show a lot of promise in this realm — which is why the blood wasn’t on the list. But, let’s be real here, it’s probably for the best that I do that.”

Translation: the spell’s probably safe but I trust Peter about as far as I can throw him.

“So what’s the spell?” Chris asked as he watched Deaton insert the syringe into Lydia’s arm and draw some blood. “Would Peter have any benefit from having Stiles do all of it while presumably using his own blood?”

“Keep pressure on this while I get you a bandaid,” Deaton said to Lydia, pressing some gauze to where he had drawn blood. He looked up at Chris and shrugged, “Perhaps, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe if he had Stiles put together the herbs in a specific order, it would bind them together. Or perhaps it could give him more power.”

“Or maybe.” Deaton brushed Lydia’s fingers away from the gauze and put a bandaid on her arm. “It would do absolutely nothing but track down the corruptor. Magic is complicated so it pays to be cautious.”

Stiles drummed his hands on the examination table while he watched Deaton measure out some ingredients and then stir Lydia’s blood in with the various powders. He wanted to do something to help out but Deaton really didn’t seem to be leaving him much room to do anything. 

Waiting around was one of his least favorite things; it made him feel so damn powerless. Not only that but it gave his mind the time and freedom to run wild which was rarely a good thing. His mind running around usually ended in panic attacks. Lydia had already seen him break down in one — he was eternally thankful for her pulling him out of it — but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Deaton and Chris.

At that moment, his mind was centered on Peter. There was something more going on than just a corrupted unicorn and its corruptor. It wasn’t like Stiles knew Peter well at all but he knew him well enough that the werewolf’s number one priority was always his own skin. He’d let the world burn to ash before helping out if it meant he could get away unscathed.

The only reason Peter would be trying to assist in something so dangerous would be if he could get something out of it. Stiles knew that the moment that Peter offered to stay and keep an eye on him instead of taking a nap on Derek’s couch or running back to his own apartment. What he didn’t like was how he still couldn’t figure out the end game of Peter’s plan… or even the beginning or middle of it.

“Hey— are you okay?” Chris placed his hand on the small of Stiles’ back and led him out to the lobby of Deaton’s clinic. He didn’t know when the feeling of Chris’s firm hands became comforting rather than pants shittingly terrifying, but in that moment they grounded him. “You’ve been keyed up on and off all night.”

“How do we know that we can trust Peter, like really trust him?” Stiles asked. “I don’t think he’s lying — obviously Scott would flip out if we told him we were going to murder this caster without a fair trial and both you and Deaton agree that it’s what we should do — but there’s something more here that none of us have been able to figure out.”

“Peter wants you,” Chris murmured. “I don’t know how or why, but he thinks that he can use this situation to manipulate you over onto his side. That’s my current guess at the very least.”

“He offered me the bite you know?” Stiles nervously fidgeted with the zipper of his hoodie. “The night that he killed Kate and then I set him on fire and Derek ripped his throat out, before all of that he almost turned me. Everyone thinks it was to build his pack, to go further with his vengeance, but I don’t know about that.”

Chris closed his eyes in thought and exhaled slowly. “The change wouldn’t have happened with you quick enough to have been any help to him that evening. I think he wanted to claim you, mark you as his.”

“He’s currently saner — and weaker — than he was before, but I’m starting to think that Peter has found a way to gain his power back and he wants you by his side when he does that.” Chris’s words made Stiles shudder as cold dread filled him. 

“We should tell Derek.”

“I’m not sure.” Chris shook his head with a frown. “We need Peter to deal with the current crisis but we also need to play it smart. I have contacts who I can get in touch with to hear about any alphas who could be coming near here and I want you to touch base with me on a fairly regular basis.”

Stiles paused, thinking over what Chris was saying. “What do we say to Lydia and Deaton?” He asked, angling his head towards the examination room where Deaton was filling two jars with thick pastes while Lydia watched.

“Right now? Nothing. I’m certain they’ve both come to their own conclusions as to what Peter really wants here but I think the call for now is to keep this between just us.” Chris’s frown deepened as he spoke, eyes filled with worry.

“Lydia will be helpful with finding and stopping the caster so I still want her involved. I’m just nervous about the potential of getting her involved if Peter’s certain about having a way to regain his alpha status. I know you guys aren’t your average teenagers but I still don’t like putting kids my daughter’s age at a needless risk.”

“Reasonable,” Stiles said with a nod. “I really don’t like that Peter might be seeing me as his, though. He’s possessive over his things to a level that almost scares me.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Deaton. “I’m going to pretend I heard nothing of your discussion just now. I won’t ask any questions but I’ve gotten everything set up for the spell.”

“Are you gonna cast it here?” Stiles asked, train of thought brutally derailed to the level that all of its little thought passengers were dead in incredibly gruesome, bloody ways. 

Deaton shook his head, “When you’re with Peter and he’s ready to start the tracking spell, you’ll need to combine these two jars, Stiles, and then the spell will activate.”

“Any warnings about it?”

“Keep them hidden from Scott,” Lydia answered for Deaton, holding the two jars in her arms. “Or have a good excuse for them at the ready. Also keep them away from flames, some of the herbs in there are like crazy toxic and can give some _ really _not fun hallucinations.” She dumped the jars into Stiles’ waiting hands and swept a lock of hair back from her face. “Now can you take me home? I have some research I want to do on my own.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter’s timeline of taking care of the corrupted unicorn situation didn’t seem to be a particularly quick one, Stiles thought as he sat on his bed a week after getting the ingredients for the spell all set up. It wasn’t unusual to hear nothing from Peter for days or weeks at a time but he had imagined that because of the current mess of a situation, Peter would try and get in touch sooner.

“If this is him trying to spite me for getting Chris and Lydia involved I am going to neuter him,” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Because that’s just great, put your bruised ego over the fact that people are dying.”

He was supposed to be studying for an econ test but he couldn’t focus on the words. It wasn’t the same mind fuckingly terrifying melting of letters that had happened with the Nogitsune; it was just simple exhaustion. He rested his head down on his desk with a sigh, he needed to take a nap but he wasn’t going to get one any time soon.

_ Any leads? _ He texted Chris and quickly followed it up with,  _ Because I feel like Im abt to lose my mind.  _

Stiles tried to busy himself with reading and some of the notes he had jotted down in Econ class while he waited for Chris to text back. Usually his notes helped him, they were messy and disorganized, hard to read and barely legible, but to him they were crystal clear. Usually they were at any rate, but because he couldn’t catch a damn break, trying to read them was like trying to dig a hole in dry, loose sand. Every word dissolved back to where it started and by the time Chris finally texted back, Stiles had made no progress in his studying.

_ Nope _ . Was the simple, one word reply. Clear and to the point, Chris Argent was and Stiles smiled — or rather, he grimaced — at his phone. 

He thought about replying, but thought better of it. So he locked his phone and closed his notebook before running downstairs and grabbing a sheet of paper he had hidden on the underside of a drawer. 

“On a top ten list of stupid things you’ve done, Stiles, this is pretty high up there,” he muttered to himself. Texting Chris to let him know where he was going was probably a good idea, the only issue being that he would probably ask to come along to protect Stiles.

_Im going to peters. _The rational side of Stiles’ brain won out as he wrote a quick text. _Hes_ _probably mad that I got you and lydia involved so if I go alone he might get things moving_.

_ That’s a shit plan _ . Chris’s response was quick.

_ You got a better one???  _ Stiles texted back.

There was a short pause that Stiles took as Chris wondering whether or not he should drive over to the Stilinski home and tie Stiles down to the bed.  _ I won’t go in, but let me come with you _ .

That was probably as good as he was going to get. It was also probably for the best since Peter has a questionable grip on sanity and had some plan that revolved around him, Smart Stiles told himself. Stupid Stiles told Smart Stiles to go shove it. 

_ Do you want me to text you the address or what?  _

_ I’ll pick you up, I’m already on my way _ . Chris texted and Stiles sighed as he read it. After texting a quick affirmative, he deleted the texts from his phone. He doubted that Scott or anyone would go through his messages but it was better safe than sorry. 

God, Scott. Hiding this sort of shit from him felt like something worse than betrayal. Scott was so good, so unshakable in his belief that there was always another way, that it made Stiles feel dirty, tainted. The issue, Stiles supposed, was that there probably _was_ another way to solve their current crisis that wasn’t a clawed hand through the guy’s throat, a bullet to the heart, or a baseball bat to the skull. But the other way would take longer with more people killed. He didn't want to kill people just to kill them, he just wanted to do whatever was necessary to keep the people he loved safe.

Stiles laughed to himself as Chris pulled up in front of his house. He had been right when everything had first started, he was the sidekick for a time. Back then he was the Robin to Scott’s Batman, but that time had passed. Scott wouldn’t kill to protect Beacon Hills, his Gotham, but Stiles would.

“I’m fucking Red Hood,” he said to himself, feeling much cooler than he should have in that moment, before walking out the door, jars in his backpack and paper in hand.

——

“Do you mind telling me how you got my address?” Peter appraised Stiles with narrowed eyes, body blocking the door to his apartment. 

Stiles raised his eyebrows and adjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. “My dad’s the sheriff and I know all of his passwords.” He tried to shoulder his way past Peter and into his apartment but it was like trying to move a brick wall. It was deceptively easy to forget that Peter had all of the strength that the other wolves around him had. He wasn’t massive like the twins and he liked to claim that he was still weakened from dying and coming back, but Stiles knew it was a lie.

“You smell like Argent.”

“He insisted on driving me here because quite frankly, neither of us trust you.” Stiles said and he watched Peter open his mouth to cut in. He wasn’t going to let him, “So yeah, Chris is waiting outside with Lydia on speed dial. Now if you’d let me in your apartment, we can finally make some progress on finding the caster.”

Peter didn’t say anything but he pushed his door open wider and allowed Stiles to slide past him. With every step he took, Stiles could feel the werewolf’s eyes on him, noticing every bead of sweat, hearing every beat of his heart. Peter was evaluating him for any potential weakness, searching for any gap on his armor so he could rip him apart bit by bit and reform him to his liking. 

Stiles wasn’t going to let him do that. So he held his chin high and kept his heart steady as he walked into Peter’s apartment like he owned the place — not that he could ever afford to in a million years. Stiles wondered who Peter killed to get the money for the apartment, it wasn’t some crazy fancy apartment, but it was big enough and in a nice enough part of town that it was absolutely not cheap or even affordable. 

“I asked for ingredients, not for them to already be combined,” Peter said dryly as Stiles set the mason jars down on his kitchen island. His arms were folded tightly against his chest and he raised a disapproving eyebrow at Stiles.

“Well, unsurprisingly, nobody actually trusts you, so Deaton’s done the prep work.” Stiles laid his hands on the counter and leaned back on them, meeting Peter’s gaze. He considered bringing up the fact that he and Chris had a pretty good clue as to what Peter was planning, but he thought better of it. He wasn’t exactly a poker player but he knew that sometimes you needed to keep your cards close to your chest.

A tight grin crossed Peter’s face and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t like having things unaccounted for, Stiles,” he said in a deceptively pleasant voice as he prowled closer. “Having someone else put together a spell while I can’t see what’s going on means I can’t be certain that this is what I need.” The mountain ash that had been mixed into the concoction was probably what kept Peter from grabbing the jars and inspecting them more carefully, so he just circled, alternating between staring at the jars and at Stiles.

“Deaton knows what he’s doing and I trust his spells.” Stiles frowned at Peter. “My question for you is do you know what you’re doing here? It’s been a week and three more people have died— Peter we need to get moving on this soon.”

“Whose blood did Deaton use?” Peter ignored him. 

“Lyd— dude don’t ignore me.”

Peter rubbed at the stubble on his chin and murmured to himself, “I would have preferred using my own but hers will have to do. And you would have been waiting anyway, I still needed to do more research on this on my own before moving forward.”

“I’m kinda the research guy in the pack, I could’ve helped,” Stiles said indignantly. “And Chris has a wealth of resources of his own.”

Peter waved him off as he walked away from the kitchen. “I don’t want him making my home reek and unfortunately he’s seemed to have glued himself to you.”

“Are you really that surprised?” Stiles followed Peter, unsure of what else to do. “Did you really expect me to fully, one hundred percent trust you?”

“Have I ever hurt you?” Peter stopped so suddenly that Stiles nearly walked into him.

“You went on a murder spree, turned my best friend, tried to have said best friend kill me, mauled Lydia, kidnapped me, had a body in your trunk, slammed my face on your car, psychologically tortured Lydia, and… do you want me to go on or have I explained enough? Because I could go on.”

“I meant physically to  _ you _ , Stiles,” Peter said, sounding completely unimpressed. He turned around and tightly folded his arms across his chest in a disapproving manner. God, the Hales really were the masters of killing with looks. “Don’t forget who it was that saved you from the Nogitsune.”

“You mean Scott?” Stiles said flatly. He knew it had been Peter’s idea that pulled him free but he was loathe to give the man any praise for that. His ego was inflated enough as it was. “Or I guess Lydia also was the one that kept us all together.”

There was tense silence for a few moments as Peter narrowed his eyes and stared at him. Stiles kept his gaze directed on Peter but tried to see if there was anything directly around them that he could use if it came to a fight.

No fight came, instead Peter just turned around and motioned for Stiles to follow him into his office. Peter sat down in front of a desk that had three monitors, all covered in various PDFs and web browser windows. The rest of his office was as cluttered as his monitors with books everywhere, some left open and others shut with various bookmarks and sticky notes hanging out of them. It was completely unlike the rest of his apartment where everything was neatly organized and tucked away. 

“If I had known I was having company, I would have organized. But unfortunately, you showed up completely uninvited thanks to information you gathered in a dubiously legal manner.”

It had occurred to Stiles back when he had logged onto his dad’s work laptop months back that the reason Peter refused to allow anyone even vaguely near his home was because he hated the idea of having anyone in the pack come over. Standing in his space like Stiles was, he realized that his instincts had been right. Peter seemed loathe to have anyone invading his space like Stiles was in that moment.

“Sorry that I’m seeing evidence that you’re an actual person who does more than lurk around and terrorize everyone,” Stiles said, unable to stop his eye roll. “I wasn’t going to keep sitting around and waiting for you to decide that it was finally time to grace us with your assistance.”

Peter retorted with some nasty remark that Stiles forced himself to ignore as he ran his fingers along the pages of one open book. It was in some older form of English, not quite Chaucer but older than Shakespeare. He couldn’t call himself an expert in older forms of English but he could at the very least pick out enough of what was written that he could make assumptions about the content.

It was about necromancy.

“You’re not planning on using Lydia again, are you?” Stiles asked cautiously as he flipped over a page to see an illustration of some Middle Ages Englishman riding a skeletal horse.

“Should I even indulge you with a response to that?” Peter asked dryly. At Stiles’ grunt he continued, “That passage detailed the story of a man who raised the corpses of warhorses, I was curious if it could give any more details on what sort of caster the corrupter would have to be.”

“And did it?” Stiles closed the book and inspected the next one. It was in Latin so he quickly moved on, searching through the books piled high on a desk until he found one in readable English.

“Not at all,” Peter said with a snort. “And before you waste your time with that one, it’s about one woman’s experience with a unicorn that nearly gored her for getting too close to its territory.”

Annoyance with Peter gone and replaced with the type of curiosity brought on by the wealth of potential new information he was surrounded by, Stiles looked up. “I thought they were peaceful? Like la de dah I love virgins and chastity let's all hold hands and smell flowers while promising to only have sex after being married. Goring people doesn’t really fit in with that.”

Unlike any other piece of information, Peter seemed relatively happy to be sharing this one, “They’re guardians, not pacifists. Why else would they have a horn?”

“Because that’s how they’re different than regular horses?”

Peter snorted and stood up, grabbing a piece of paper from his desk before he walked over towards Stiles. “It’s not like corrupting a unicorn would be enough to suddenly give it strength— they’re creatures that have always had it.” Peter set down the paper on top of the book Stiles was reading and he could see that it was an illustration from a Middle English manuscript of a unicorn, horn and snout red with blood as it killed men who threatened its land.

“Humans always distort legends over time and with unicorns it’s no different. They’re protectors of nature and the light, related to Kelpies and Nightmares. A sort of fae.” God, Peter was way too fucking close to him. There was no need for the werewolf to be leaning over him like he was, no need for the hand that rested on his shoulder. But it was Peter so of course he had to do it.

“Unicorns have always been relatively rare when it comes to the fae but with the rise of industrialization, they’ve become even rarer. I have a theory as to where the caster found one, but I’m not sure how they managed to gain control of it.” Despite the way too much touching, Peter’s tone was entirely business and when Stiles looked at him out of the corner of his eye, Peter was staring at the illustration.

“Sacrificing a virgin near some enchanted meadow?”

Peter’s lips twitched. “Are you volunteering?”

“What the fuck, dude?” Stiles scowled. “I’m not a virgin.”

“Oh right,” Peter said in a dry, unamused tone. “You slept with my daughter in the basement of a mental institution.” The pressure of fingers on his shoulder became sharper as Peter let his claws slide out. “Incredibly romantic first time for the both of you.”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it a few times, uncharacteristically unable to find any words. Like… okay yeah he and Malia had fucked but— “I didn’t know she was your kid.”

“No, of course you didn’t.” The pinprick pressure of claws released and Peter sounded almost thoughtful. “Even I didn’t.”

Stiles had never really thought about it before, how Peter felt about Malia and how even the faintest memory of her existence had been stolen from him. It was something oddly humanizing about him, it made Peter more than just that psychopathic zombie who was occasionally helpful when he could gain something from it. He was a person who missed his family, who wanted some form of a relationship with a daughter taken from him.

He didn’t let himself continue down that trail for long. Humanizing Peter was dangerous, even if he cared about his family, he still was a narcissistic jackass. One who was working towards his own goals with every single sentence he spoke. His goal that likely involved both Stiles and becoming an alpha once again.

It was a sobering thought, one that immediately quenched any feelings of sympathy that had been bubbling up.

“The unicorn,” Stiles said, words more clipped and icy than intended. 

“The unicorn,” Peter parroted and let go of Stiles shoulder. Stiles followed him with his eyes as Peter walked across the office to a bookshelf and ran his knuckles across several spines until he landed on a book. He pulled the selected book off of the shelf and flipped through the pages until he landed on a specific one. “The closest I’ve come to figuring out where the caster could have found a unicorn in the area was through this journal entry of an explorer from the eighteen hundreds.”

He handed the book to Stiles who immediately poured over the open pages. They detailed a brief history of an area in the Pacific Northwest. The explorer had started out in a party of nearly thirty, ten of which passed away in the journey from Pennsylvania to the west coast.

All of the remaining explorers were killed after reaching their destination.

There had been this clearing they found, pure, untouched wilderness in an area of untouched wilderness. There had been a local tribe near the glade — though the author hadn’t bothered to record their name —who warned the group off of investigating it and settling there. There had been animal attacks and countless drownings there in the past, enough so that they had the sense to stay away.

The author and his group didn’t. In his initial writing, it was clear that he didn’t trust the native tribe, considered them barbaric and their information useless. It was hard for Stiles to feel bad for the group’s fate.

The explorers were all slaughtered one by one when they tried to start building a town there. Each journal entry more paranoid than the last, the author detailed how at night, a single of his party would be dragged from their camp while the rest laid paralyzed, unable to move. The screams of agony echoed through the forest. Their bodies were never found.

The explorers first blamed the native tribe. Then they blamed each other. But they continued building, continued ripping down trees and tearing up the earth to create their idea of civilization in an uncivilized land.

The journal ended abruptly, the writing was loose and hard to read, script shaky with fear. The author was the last of his group and he said he could feel eyes on him as he hammered a nail into a plank of wood. He hadn’t slept for days, cradled his gun by his side as he sat at the fireside.

There were no more entries.

Stiles closed the book and looked up at Peter, “What other types of nature spirits are there?” He asked, mind running at a thousand miles an hour, trying to think of any potential answers to the questions the journal raised that wasn’t a unicorn.

“Dryads, hamadryads, satyrs, I could go on but I know that you’ve come to the same conclusion as me,” Peter said. He looked dead serious as he walked to the wall opposite Stiles. It had a large whiteboard on it that had traces of old writing still on it. He drew a quick, imperfect outline of the Pacific Northwest.

“Somewhere by the Northern California-Oregon border, there’s a glade that was protected by a unicorn. So we know vaguely where the caster found it but—“

“We don’t know  _ how  _ they got control of it,” Stiles finished Peter’s thought. He stood up and slowly started pacing while his mind raced. “Are they attracted to darkness and polluted areas?” He asked and ran a hand through his hair, “Like— would they see some evil darkness and feel an urge to purify it?” His stomach felt sick as he worked to think up a way to put his thoughts to words.

“They could…” Peter hummed and wrote a few things down on the board. “Much like other fae, they’re not concerned with morality — right and wrong, good and evil, none of that matters to them — but they’re allies of the light. They care about the balance of light and darkness. A naiad or a mermaid who drowns children because they think it’s hysterical that humans can’t breathe underwater is just as touched by the light as a faerie who gifts humans with better harvests.” Peter tapped on the graph he drew on the board and looked at Stiles. “As a werewolf, I’m more aligned with the dark than the light, but you can see your friend Scott and tell that he’s far from evil.”

It would have been easy to rise to the obvious bait Peter had set, say that  _ well, you seem to be dark and evil, Peter _ , but Stiles couldn’t. Not when his mind was miles away. “I’m telling Chris to get up here so he can be part of this, I think—“ Stiles cut himself off with a shuddering breath as he thought of his time while he was possessed by the Nogitsune. “I think that the Nogitsune is why the caster was able to find the unicorn.”

A look that could have been interpreted as concern if it had come from anybody else flashed across Peter’s face. “That was almost a year ago, these attacks only started within the last month.” He made no attempt to stop Stiles from sending a text to Chris.

“If werewolves are allied with the dark and could be anywhere on the scale of good and evil and unicorns are allied with the light and, to be generous, sit exactly in the middle of good and evil. How about Kitsune?” Stiles took the dry erase marker from Peter’s hand after he sent his text through. He put down a few dots, Peter was lower extremity of werewolves in terms of good and evil whereas Scott was the higher extremity, Derek, Isaac, Deucalion, and the others all got dots that were closer to the middle. He made another dot on the far right for the unicorn but it sat on the x-axis, zero good, zero evil.

“We know that Kira’s a thunder Kitsune and she’s unquestionably good and would probably lie closer to the light,” Stiles said and put a dot down for her. “I don’t know about her mom’s goodness levels but she’s a light Kitsune or whatever so she gets to sit next to the unicorn.” He put down another dot.

“Now how about the Nogitsune?” Stiles asked and turned towards Peter. “Where would that lie on this graph of good and evil, light and dark?” He didn’t pause long enough for Peter to reply. As he spoke, he drew a massive black dot in the bottom left corner of the graph. “Evil and dark, unicorns might not care about the evil but I’m pretty damn certain they care out the darkness that the Nogitsune brought to Beacon Hills.”

“I should really be offended that this is where you ranked me.” Peter frowned and inspected the board. “I’m not  _ that _ evil, I’m just opportunistic.” The sound of the front door opening was loud and Peter’s frown deepened, “I really should find something like mountain ash that keeps humans out of my apartment.”

“We’re in here, Chris,” Stiles called out, ignoring Peter. He moved from the graph to start writing down a timeline. It started with Jennifer Blake coming to town and ended with the first killing by the unicorn. He needed to get his thoughts in order, needed to see if it was really his fault that this was happening.

“Do you have different colors?” Stiles asked, waving the marker in the air.

“We’re not making a crime wall in my office.” Peter rolled his eyes. 

“It helps me think.”

“The unicorn didn’t appear seventy years ago when the Nogitsune first appeared. This is just more self flagellation for something that wasn’t your fault.” Peter plucked the marker from Stiles hand and drew an incredibly terrible looking tree. It was actually remarkable how awful it was. “What’s more likely is the Nemeton is what drew the unicorn here.”

“That’s the Nemeton?” Stiles squinted.

“I’m not an artist,” Peter snapped back.

“No joke,” Chris said as he entered the office. “Now, give me the rundown on this.”

Peter briefly explained his thoughts on where the caster found a unicorn— Chris didn’t need the basics on what unicorns actually were because unsurprisingly, he already knew. Peter handed him the journal that he had shown Stiles and Chris flicked through it briefly.

“There’s been a lot that could have drawn the unicorn here over the past several years,” Chris said, shutting the book with a frown. “Three new alphas, an alpha pack, more killings than I can count, a Darach, the Nemeton, the Nogitsune, and I could go on. It makes sense to me that any one of those could have brought it in, but whatever spell that was cast to essentially flip the polarity of the unicorn’s alignment would have been noticed.”

“Not entirely,” Peter shook his head and started writing on the board. “Summoning the Oni was huge magic on Noshiko’s part yet they were only noticed when tracking down the Nogitsune. There were three parts to what happened: the unicorn came to Beacon Hills to eradicate darkness, the caster trapped the unicorn, and then they flipped its polarity.”

“I would really like to petition to be allowed to make a crime wall right now,” Stiles said as his mind raced, trying to put everything together. “If I can do that, I can find a pattern.”

“I don’t know if there’s a pattern to find.” Chris set the book down and moved over to Peter’s computer. He inspected the documents on it with narrowed eyes. “We’d have noticed more alignment swapped monsters running around if the caster had made a pattern of it.”

Stiles tapped a finger on his chin. “Which means they must have moved here sometime shortly after the unicorn arrived. I’m sure you have records you’re not allowed to have, Peter. Can you pull up info on everyone who’s moved to Beacon Hills within the last year?”

“Yes I can do that, no you’re not making a crime wall. If you wanted to do that you can make a mess in your own room.” Peter moved Chris away from his computer and started to quickly type. “And we really don’t need to logic out whoever the caster is; we’ll find them through the spell. I just want to know how they managed to capture a unicorn without it killing them.”

“Why, do you want to take control over it next?” Stiles snorted. “If you don’t care about doing detective work into who the guy is, then we just need to combine the jars and find the dude.”

“I care about not dying, impaled on the horn of a shiny white horse that likes to kill dark aligned creatures,” Peter said dryly. “The caster had done something to protect himself from the unicorn and I want to know what it was.”

“Mountain ash circle probably?” Stiles offered up. “Caster stays in the circle until the spell is complete then wham, bam, thank you ma’am, dark unicorn ready to eat all the tasty, tasty insides and poison all of the watersheds all for its evil master.”

“If it makes you feel better, Stiles and I can handle this while you stay safe in your apartment, human free,” Chris added. 

“I’m going to be there, it’s imperative that I kill the caster.” Peter said with narrowed eyes. “And mountain ash wouldn’t have worked— no, there was something else at play and I want to know what it is.”

Peter stood up, “Argent, give me your keys, I have an idea I want to check out.”

“You have a car, Peter.”

“Yes, a very expensive sedan made for cruising down nicely paved asphalt roads. You have an SUV. Give me your keys.”

Chris smiled tightly and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “How about you tell me where you want us to go and I’ll drive?”

“I’m a perfectly capable driver— probably better than you.”

The tightness of Chris’s embrace would have probably broken the ribs of a human. “Peter, I’m not about to hand you the keys to my car so you can go wherever you want with us. Tell me the destination and I’ll take us there, scout’s honor.”

Peter glared at Chris, “We’re going to the preserve, I want to see something in the basement of my old home.”

——

“Your daughter’s smoked weed in here.” After about fifteen minutes of driving, Peter apparently decided to break the ice.

“I know.”

“Kids these days,” Peter clucked his tongue and opened up a window. “There’s a dispensary on every corner where she could get edibles yet she still thought that hotboxing daddy’s car was the way to do it.”

Chris turned his head towards Peter and frowned. “Honestly, Peter? With everything these kids have gone through, I’m glad that Allison is doing some normal teenage bullshit instead of endangering her life twenty four seven.”

“How long was she grounded for?”

Chris’s lips twitched, “She’s still grounded and I’ve taken her weed stash.”

Stiles couldn’t help his laugh. The thought of Christopher-fucking-Argent lighting a joint was just too much for him. “I didn’t take you for a weed man, Chris.”

“It’s California,” Chris laughed along with Stiles. “Not only that but it’s Beacon Hills where every day is some new nightmare. And if you speak a word of this to any of your friends I will murder you.”

“Right, keep up the mystical parents do no drugs illusion.”

“Good boy,” Chris grinned.

“I wonder if I would have been a good father,” Peter murmured quietly to himself. Stiles wasn’t sure if Peter realized he had spoken the thought aloud.

“Peter?” Chris asked softly.

Peter turned towards Chris. “Malia called me Satan in a v-neck and she despises me. She still barely accepts that I’m her father.”

“Lydia was actually the one who called you that,” Stiles added. Then wincing, he continued, “That… doesn’t help matters. I’m going to shut up now.”

“Do you know how it feels to have a memory stolen from you, Christopher?” Peter asked. “My sister decided that me raising my daughter was too much of a liability so she put her up for adoption and stole even the vaguest memory of her from me.”

He laughed sardonically and looked out the window. “Everything I’ve ever done was to protect and avenge my pack. I’m the enforcer, I made the hard decisions and punished those who needed punished and my own daughter looks at me like I’m some kind of monster for it.”

“You murdered your niece,” Chris said and Stiles knew Chris was fighting the same battle inside that he was. They needed to not humanize Peter, they couldn’t let him wiggle his way into their trust so he could slip a knife between their shoulder blades.

“I needed the powers of an alpha to heal and I was insane from six years of being a comatose burn patient whose remaining family — remaining pack — was on the other coast. Forgive me for not making the most rational decision.”

“No one here is free from having made bad decisions, Christopher,” Peter continued, giving Chris a disparaging look. “You terrorized these children for months yet you’re the first one they call when they’re having problems. Me? I’m just creepy, untrustworthy Uncle Peter.”

“I’ve proved myself to be trustworthy,” Chris did harshly. “You’ve only ever proved that you continue to play for your side. For the time being, it’s aligned with us but I think I’d be insulting all of us if I believed that our goals would always line up.” The car stopped in front of the burned down remains of the Hale house but Chris made no attempts to unlock the doors.

“I’m the bad guy,” Peter shrugged. “But I’m not  _ evil _ . I protect myself and my interests.”

“So then tell me, what exactly is your interest in Stiles?”

“He’s an intelligent boy who’s desperate to please and gain validation from others.” The smirk on Peter’s face unnerved Stiles. “He deserves a pack better than this motley group of teenagers with issues. And Christopher? I could ask you a similar question.”

“Stiles, wait for us at the house.” The lock on Stiles’ door flipped open. “I need to have a discussion with Peter.”

“Cool, cool, cool, I’m going to pretend like it’s not about me and I’ll wait in a burned down skeleton of a house where a bunch of people died. It’s really my favorite sort of pla—“

“Go, Stiles.”

“Right, cool, of course. Have fun talking about me and please don’t shoot or claw each other’s throats out. I’m just going to text Lydia and give her an update.” Stiles slid out of the car and swore under his breath. He hated the Hale house and the ghosts that haunted it.

Not real ghosts, thank god. He had dealt with them once and the ectoplasm that got all over him took days to clean off. But metaphorical ghosts were bad enough.

He sat down on the porch steps and glanced over at the car as he pulled out his phone. Chris and Peter were in a fantastic argument and, though he couldn’t hear the words, he knew that many unkind things were being said.

_ So unicorns apparently like to stab people & I kinda wish one would stab peter rn _ , he texted Lydia.

_ Lol if only _ , her response was quick.  _ What’s going on? Need me to come over? _

Stiles watched as Chris slammed his car door closed and Peter followed him out, looking entirely too smug.  _ Nah, just write an obituary for me lmao… ill fill you in on all the deets tomorrow. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This splits from canon at the end of s3 btw. I'll probably pull on things from s4+ but only the bits I like LOL. I'm also over here pretending like Allison didn't die and that Chris hasn't had to deal with the death of like everyone he loves and cares about. I just want to give him and stiles a blanket and let them take naps for like 30 years bc jesus they've gone through some shit  
\----  
Follow me online @ [my main twitter](https://twitter.com/smalls2233) and [my NSFW twitter](https://twitter.com/smallsnsfw)


	3. Chapter 3

The air was thick with tension as Stiles followed Peter into the shell of the Hale home. Part of that was from unpleasant memories for all three of them, the other (much larger) part was from the looks of pure loathing that Peter and Chris were sending each other. It was unpleasant, completely fucking awful.

_ Im pretty sure peter & chris are abt to murder each other in this wendys.  _ Stiles texted Lydia.  _ By wendys i mean the hale house. Pls write two more obituaries. _

“Stiles,” Peter said sharply as he stopped in front of the door to the basement. “Get the jars ready. Argent can keep watch up here.” There was some muttering about not trusting an Argent to keep them safe but it was low enough that Stiles questioned whether or not he actually heard it. 

Stiles shared a pained look with Chris but he wasn’t going to fight Peter on this. He could pick his battles and there was absolutely going to be a more critical one at a later point. He just wanted to get the spell done and move forward with he tracking the caster.

“So why do we need to be in a basement that creeps me out at a starting point and has some probably crazy traumatic memories for you?” Stiles asked as he cautiously walked down the stairs. They seemed sturdy enough but after the fire, he didn’t trust them not to collapse on him.

Peter looked unimpressed at the bottom of the stairs. “Traumatic is too light of a word for the memories I have of this basement but it suits my purpose,” he said, tone deceptively light. “You’re casting the spell but I’m the focus of it and for this to properly work, I need to be in a place of high emotional — as well as magical — energy.”

It was… a surprisingly honest answer that Stiles hadn’t been expecting. “Oh,” was all he could say, too stunned to fully process the words. “So then how do I do this?”

Peter hummed and pulled a stick of chalk out of his jacket pocket. On the dusty concrete that still had traces of ash from the fire he expertly drew two perfect circles, a big one with a smaller one inside of it and several runes. He connected the runes and circles with lines and then looked up at Stiles. “Combine the jars and then trace these shapes with the spell.” 

Peter sat down on the inside of the smaller circle and closed his eyes. Stiles just blinked as he stared at the complicated patterns on the floor.

“What?” Peter cracked open an eye and looked unamused.

“When did you learn this sort of rune work?” Stiles asked, kneeling down to trace the shapes with a hand. They had the sort of intricacies that came only after years of practice and Peter had drawn them out almost casually.

“I’ve been studying the different types of supernaturals all of my life. There are many types of magic I can’t do thanks to being a werewolf but with the role I had in the pack, I needed to know everything I could.” The way Peter spoke made it sound as if he had felt humble about his knowledge and his old role, but his posture, the look on his face, they spoke to the arrogance hiding behind his easy tone. “If I was to protect the pack and my alpha, I needed to know more than most.”

Stiles held his tongue, not wanting to say what he was thinking. It would have been easy, too easy to remind Peter of his failures as an enforcer, a guardian, sitting in the basement where his family died. But it hadn’t been anything supernatural that killed them. It was a delusional hunter and a fuckton of gasoline.

So instead of speaking, Stiles poured the loose powder of one mason jar into the other and stirred them together. The loose powder mixed with the paste in a way that made it look and feel like wet sand. It didn’t appear to be magical at all — it looked more like a wet, nasty mix of ash and sand — but Stiles could feel the power that thrummed in it.

“Just like mountain ash, trace the symbols starting with the inner circle and going outwards.” Peter’s eyes were once more closed and his hands rested on his knees, open palms to the sky… ceiling… whatever.

“Right,” Stiles murmured. He had thrown down countless mountain ash circles, he could make a weird spell circle. 

The texture of the mix was unlike mountain ash. It wasn’t an easy slide, each grain wanting to slip free from his hands. No, the wet sand-like concoction wanted to stay put and clump together. Stiles grumbled under his breath and shook his hand, willing the mixture free. Nothing fell through the narrow gap in his fist.

Peter sighed loudly. “Relax, clear your mind, and let the mixture fall from your hand. Stop trying to force it.”

“Clear my mind? You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” Stiles couldn’t help his barked out laugh. “I’m pretty sure I’m always thinking of at least twenty things and that’s on a slow brain day.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Peter rolled his eyes and stood up. He stalked over in quick, annoyed steps and stopped just inches from Stiles. He placed one hand on the small of Stiles’ back and the other under his chin, tilting it up so he was staring into Peter’s eyes.

“Focus on me, Stiles, nothing else,” Peter said, voice a low rumble.

“You’re too close,” Stiles squeaked out. His heart was pounding a mile a minute and he couldn’t move backwards, the gentle but firm pressure on his back stopping him.

Peter didn’t smirk yet the corners of his lips twitched, barely containing the smug grin that Stiles knew was raring to come out. “You need help clearing your mind and focusing? Darling boy that’s what werewolves excel at.” He made no move to come closer but his fingers pinched at Stiles’ chin, making his lips open.

“Just focus on me and my voice, right now you and I are the only ones here.”

“And Chris.”

Peter shook his hand lightly, rattling Stiles’ skull. “ _ Focus _ , Stiles,” he said, reprimanding him lightly. “He’s not in this room so he doesn’t matter. Right now your world is the beautiful man in front of you.” He gave Stiles a flash of white teeth and Stiles wasn’t sure if it was a grin or a threat. Maybe both.

“You overthink everything,” Peter continued on. “So do me a favor and just stop thinking.”

“Just stop thinking? Wow, I didn’t realize the cure to ADHD was that simple. Could have saved me a lot of doctor’s visits and adderall prescriptions if the answer was to just shut off my—“

“Shut up.” Peter pulled Stiles in closer and Jesus Christ that was a hug. Scott’s hugs were warm and safe, the type of bear hug you’d get from an actual bear that loved you and would never hurt you. Peter’s hug was terrifying on so many levels because, on the first level, Peter probably would love to hurt him, and on another, his chest was broad and he was super warm and it just all came together into a mix of yes this would be great to cuddle with. Except Stiles did not want to cuddle with Peter. Quite frankly he’d like to stab him.

“Uh.” Was all Stiles could say with how his brain was thoroughly short circuiting.

The look on Peter’s face was painfully smug and he brought his face close enough to Stiles’ face that their noses brushed against each other and Stiles could smell the mint of his mouthwash. “I’m going to let go of you and you’re going to lay down the spell like I know you can.” Peter’s breath was warm against Stiles’ lips as he spoke in a low rumble. 

“Again, you’re  _ way _ too close.”

“I could be closer,” Peter smirked and Stiles didn’t think that was physically possible. If he tilted his head at all, they’d be kissing. 

“We’re pack, Stiles,” Peter continued on and adjusted his grip to hold Stiles tighter. He let go of his chin to rest a hand on the back of Stiles’ head, letting it rest at the crook of his neck. “Pack is meant to be physical— wolves are tactile creatures.” Peter smelt really good and Stiles despised that he noticed it. “The majority of this terrible little pack might not be wolves but that doesn’t change how a pack should interact.”

“That doesn’t mean that you need to hug me.” Stiles gave up on struggling — it was useless against Peter’s strength. “My brain has completely shifted from spell mode to strongly considering murder mode.”

“You’re twenty types of keyed up and physical contact helps people relax.” Peter rubbed circles on the base of Stiles’ skull with a thumb and Stiles couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. “I’m not trying to suck your dick in the basement where my family was murdered, Stiles. I just want to do this spell and it’s not gonna happen until you’re relaxed.”

“Just trust me here, sweet boy.” The quiet way Peter spoke mixed with the soothing touch was almost hypnotic. “I’m genuinely involved in this to help you, that’s my end goal here.”

The rational side of Stiles didn’t believe that for a second. Knew it was a lie; Peter’s end goals always surrounded personal gain, other people were never considered. But he let himself shut off that rational side for a moment, let himself relax into Peter’s grip and bury his nose into Peter’s neck, inhaling his warm, earthy scent, because he knew that Peter was right on a base level. If he wanted to do the spell, he needed to clear his mind.

“Good boy,” Peter rumbled and Stiles could feel him scenting him. That rational side of him was equally repulsed by the action and questioning how the hell he was going to explain why he smelled so much like Peter to Scott. The relaxed side told him to just deal with it and clear his mind so he could get it over with and do the spell. 

“You’d really make the perfect wolf.” The soft, thoughtful way Peter spoke made it sound as if he was speaking a thought aloud, one meant only for himself. He placed his nose on the top of Stiles’ head and inhaled before releasing him, apparently he decided that Stiles’ mind was clear enough. Or focused on him enough. Or whatever the hell that was going through Peter’s brain, Stiles never had a clue but he wasn’t going to let himself think too much about that in the moment.

With Peter standing in the middle of the circle, Stiles grabbed a handful of the spell mixture once again and closed his eyes before loosening his grip and letting it fall from his hand. Unlike before, it fell as easily as mountain ash and he let himself follow the chalk pattern Peter laid out for him.

“Give me your hand,” Peter ordered softly when Stiles poured the last of the mixture, completing the circle. On instinct, Stiles did and immediately he yelped in pain as Peter slashed a claw through both of their palms and flipped them over, letting the blood drip down onto the floor.

The spell circle lit up and Stiles looked up to Peter to see the man’s eyes glowing an unearthly blue. It was unlike the blue of his wolf. It was the sort of glow that covered his entire eyes, scleras, pupils, and irises disappeared in the pale blue glow.

Stiles felt a draining pull to his energy as the intensity of the glow grew. It felt like someone had taken hold of him and dragged him down. The cost of the tracking spell, he assumed. After a few moments, Peter’s grip on his hand was all that kept him standing as the spell tore through him.

Then the glow disappeared and Peter gasped before collapsing down onto a knee, taking Stiles with him. The spell circle was blown away, dust scattered across the basement. 

“God I hate magic,” Peter groaned, eyes screwed shut. 

“Did you find out their location?”

Peter gave an affirmative grunt before he released Stiles’ hand so he could go lay against the cool ground with a hand over his eyes. “Give me a moment to recover.”

“It’s like the worst hangover I’ve ever had.” Stiles followed Peter’s lead and laid down. “Not that I’ve ever had one. Just theoretically.”

“Good save.”

Stiles gave Peter a very polite middle finger and screwed his eyes shut. He had a tremendous headache building and his hand throbbed where Peter has sliced through it. His stomach growled and Stiles wanted to fucking die. Never before had he cast a spell that took so much out of him.

“It makes sense that you’re worn out,” Peter said, as if reading his thoughts. He already sounded less miserable, likely thanks to werewolf superhealing. “The caster had a lot of protective measures around him to keep prying eyes like ours out.”

“We’re lucky that you’re a stronger caster than he is.” Peter sat up and grabbed hold of Stiles’ throbbing hand. The pain in his hand immediately let up and Stiles knew that if he opened his eyes, he’d see Peter with black veins.

It was a rare sight to see either of the Hales taking pain away. To Stiles’ knowledge, Scott was the one in the pack who would usually handle that. But Stiles wasn’t going to complain that anyone was helping him not want to vomit.

“I’m good now,” Stiles said and brushed Peter’s hand away after a bit. His hand still throbbed vaguely but he didn’t think it needed any stitches, just some gauze wrapped around it. His head felt like he was going to be up all night with the headache after he got back to his place and Peter’s pain drain shit faded away. 

Stiles stood up and quickly stumbled. Peter near immediately wrapped a supportive hand around his waist and looked down at him with an unreadable expression. But Peter said nothing and just helped Stiles up the stairs, supporting him the entire way as they slowly made their way up the burnt stairs, leaving the basement behind them.

“How did it go?” Chris asked immediately as they got back to the ground floor. “Do you know where the caster is?” He eyed Peter’s arm around the exhausted Stiles’ waist cautiously.

“I know where he’s at and I now need time to prepare and do some reconsaince on my own,” Peter said, staring at Chris with narrowed eyes and a smug grin threatened to break free on the edge of his lips. “Stiles needs to go home and sleep, the spell took a lot out of both of us but I recover faster.”

“Convenient for you,” Chris muttered under his breath. He stepped forward and grabbed Stiles from Peter, wrapping a firm arm under his arms and letting Stiles wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“The ever gallant hunter swoops in to save the day.” The look that Peter and Chris shared was one of pure loathing, but Stiles was too exhausted to notice or even care. It was too much of a bother at the moment to pay attention to the bitchy dick measuring contest Peter and Chris seemed to get in whenever they were in the same room.

“I’m going to pass out in your car, Chris,” Stiles said, words slurred together. He slumped down, held up only by Chris’s arm.

——

After they dropped Peter off at his apartment, Stiles expected that Chris would take him immediately back to his place so he could sleep away the entire weekend. But when Chris took a turn that went the opposite way, Stiles shot him a questioning look.

“We’re gonna get you some food,” Chris said simply, shrugging.”I don’t need werewolf super senses to tell that you’re running on empty.”

As if on cue,Stiles’ stomach growled angrily. “I don’t have any cash on me,” he protested.

“I’m an adult with a job that gives me enough cash to blow on feeding dumbass kids, I got it,” Chris brushed him off and pulled into a drive in. Despite the late hour, it was packed with cars and carhops rushing around.

“Okay well, I’m just gonna close my eyes for a sec,” Stiles mumbled, eyes already drifting shut before Chris even pulled into a spot.

Stiles woke up to the smell of a burger and fries being set on his lap and his hand wrapped in gauze. He wasn’t even sure if he was awake, it felt more like his stomach was controlling his limbs and forcing them to put something in it. He had to take a few bites of the hot burger before his brain woke up enough to speak.

“You’re such a dad,” Stiles said, mouth full of burger. “But seriously, thanks.”

Chris’s lips twitched, “I’ve been accused of that once or twice in my life.”

“Did you not get anything for yourself?” Stiles asked after a few more bites.

Chris ran a hand through his hair. “I’m supposed to eating healthily with Allison.” He paused with a sheepish grin. “I’m pretty terrible, though, and I got a milkshake.”

“Don’t feel bad.” Stiles shoved a few fries into his mouth. “The other day Allison, Isaac, Scott, and Kira were hanging out at my place to do some studying and I think Allison ate most of a pizza. Scott and Isaac both are an entire large pizza each, though.”

Chris laughed and stole a few of Stiles’ fries, “So then I don’t have to feel bad about this then?”

“Nah,” Stiles grinned and the two of them finished off the food in silence. He ended up giving Chris half of his fries. Despite how hungry he had felt initially, he quickly filled up, greasy food and sips of Chris’s milkshake hitting the spot.

He could barely keep his eyes open by the time he finished his burger. His eyelids felt like they were made as lead and he was so, so very weak.

“I think I might fall asleep again,” Stiles said as his eyes came dangerously close to closing. “Just wake me up when we get back to my place.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Chris said softly as Stiles let himself give into sleep.

He woke up in his own bed, still wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before. The angle of the shadows in his room meant that he had slept the entire day away, well into the evening. He groaned and forced himself to roll out of bed, body aching like he had the flu.

Chris must have carried him inside, he realized as he went over the events of the previous night. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in Chris’s car, asking to be woken up when he was home. He felt terrible at the thought of Chris having to carry him up the stairs — he also was incredibly grateful his dad had been working the night shift that night so there were no awkward questions.

Stiles sighed and grabbed his phone off of his desk. He realized that he had never followed up with Lydia the previous night and she was probably worrying herself sick.

_ I survived _ , he texted her and then quickly followed it up with.  _ And we got the location of the caster. _

He set his phone back down and noticed that there were some aspirin next to where it was on his desk. Chris must’ve left them there, he realized as swallowed them down dry with a slight smile. 

_ Thanks *dad* lol _ , he quickly texted Chris after he swallowed the pills.  _ And thnks for taking me inside…….. I just woke up so I must have been passed tf out.  _

After the text, he wandered over to his bathroom, movements stiff. He wanted to get a shower to try and scrub some of Peter’s smell off of himself so he didn’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions the next day at school. He also wanted to scrub away the memory of Peter’s hug and how he had so easily given into the touch.

Maybe he should text Malia and fuck around a little, he thought as he stripped from his clothes and turned on the shower. As the water heated up, he started brushing his teeth. She was usually down to fuck and he was probably way too fucking touch starved if one little hug from Peter had managed to shut his brain down so easily.

And then he groaned. Peter. Malia’s dad. Yeah, nope, good lay as she was, he was not going back to that territory. He was making it his middle of the year resolution that he was never going to fuck a Hale again. That was an entire tangled up disaster.

The issue was the list of people he know who’d fuck him could be counted on one hand. They were Malia and… probably some of the people he met at The Jungle? He could probably get Lydia to hook him up with somebody but that meant answering the question of “So how did you come to the realization that you’re painfully touch starved?” And he really did not want to answer that. So instead, Stiles just let himself stand under the shower until the water went cold. 

——

School was fine until it wasn’t. For the majority of the first half of the day, Scott just stared at him like he was afraid something was wrong but too nervous to ask. It made Stiles antsy and unable to meet Scott’s gaze.

He had more nervous energy than ever despite the bone deep exhaustion that still pulled at him. It was probably the adderall he had pounded that morning, all that focus going in the complete wrong direction.

Stiles briefly wondered if he was adderalling himself into an anxiety attack when he took his second dose for the day right before Econ. He probably could have been trying to force his attention on things like focusing on his teachers as they talked, but that proved difficult as his mind spun over the spell from the weekend and how afraid he was of betraying Scott.

“Are you feeling okay? Because you look like shit, dude.” Scott slid into his desk just as the bell rang for class to start and frowned at Stiles. “Like I think you might need to go home.”

“I’m fine, just exhausted,” Stiles attempted a grin. “I’ve been sleeping like shit lately, must be the paralyzing fear of having some monster munch on my intestines.”

Scott has a concerned look in his eyes but before he could say anything, class started and Coach was giving them death glares. Because cool, great, the Econ exam that Stiles had totally remembered to study for with everything that happened.

He wished he had taken up his dad’s offer on skipping school for the day because of his cut open hand.

But he didn’t. So he had to deal with taking an Econ test he barely studied for while feeling god awful and probably still smelling way too much like Peter thanks to his fucking scenting.

After the exam — which Stiles was certain he got maybe five questions out of thirty correct on — came lunch. Lunch with Scott and Isaac and everyone and too many questions. 

Questions that started earnestly enough.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Stiles?” Scott asked, doing his best impression of a golden retriever. “You don’t smell right, you kinda smell—“

“I’m good Scott, genuinely, I’m good,” Stiles cut him off. “Again, it’s just that man eating evil un— monsters kinda stress me, the regular human with no super strength or super speed or years of training, out.”

_ Smooth catch _ , Lydia mouthed at him. His lips twitched as he tried to stop his smile. Instead he subtly flipped her off. 

“Is Peter doing something?” Scott furrowed his brows together. “He was weird the other week, wanting to stay back with you and…”

Stiles and Lydia shared a look and Stiles nearly choked on his spoonful of bland rice. “I— Scott, what? Dude no, seriously, I’m just human and tired. I might have caught a little bug this weekend but I’m seriously fine. Peter Hale has nothing to do with this.”

“He was in your room.”

Stiles paused and shot Scott a quizzical look. “Uh, no he wasn’t. I’m pretty sure I’d rather kill myself than have creepy Uncle Peter Hale hanging out in my room.”

“Dude I was at your place yesterday — you were knocked the fuck out so I left pretty quick — and your room reeked of him. Do I need to talk to Derek? If he’s hanging out in your room when you’re asleep, that’s a little concerning.” Scott ran a hand through his hair and his frown deepened. “I don’t trust him.”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it a few times. He couldn’t say what it was that he actually wanted to say — that he was working with Peter and Chris to kill the man behind all of the issues in town right then. If he did then everything would be fucked and they’d have to find another way around what they were doing. Lying to a werewolf was also next to impossible, Scott wasn’t the best at being a human lie detector, but Isaac and Malia were also sitting at the table.

“I— uh,” Stiles started incredibly eloquently. “We— shit, I’m sleeping with Peter, okay?” He blurted out the first excuse that came to mind and immediately mentally kicked himself. Sleeping with Peter? What the fuck type of excuse was that?

The rest of the table stared at him, the looks on everyone’s faces ranged from shock to disgust to pure confusion.

“You’re… sleeping with Peter?” Scott repeated. 

“Yup!” Stiles forced a fake grin on his face and prayed that his heart going a hundred miles an hour was taken as embarrassment rather than the lie that it was. If he was going to lie, he was gonna commit to it. “We ended up fucking in Derek’s loft and now he comes by sometimes.”

“Peter.” Was all Allison said.

“The one and only.” Stiles’s grin grew more strained and as he looked at Lydia her eyes were just about bulging out of her head. 

Malia mostly looked confused and slightly concerned. “He’s my bio dad.”

_ Yeah _ , probably not the best part of the lie but Stiles was desperate for anything to cover up the fact that his room apparently reeked of Peter — something he needed to have a conversation with him about because he had never actually seen Peter in his room before.

“Stiles,” Lydia hissed. “Can you come and talk with me real quick?” There really was no option as Lydia grabbed his arm and pulled him out of werewolf hearing distance.

“I know you have to come up with some cover for this, but _sleeping with Peter_?” Her voice steadily rose in octave as she spoke.

“I was put on the spot and it was the first thing I could think of!” Stiles protested. “I panicked.”

“You’re about to have a werewolf guard stakes outside your room for every second of the day and night now to keep Peter away, you know that, right?” Lydia squeezed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Sweetheart, this whole kill the caster and keep it a secret plan isn’t going to work if Scott and everyone are watching twenty four seven.”

Stiles hissed out a breath. “At least with the, Scott’s not going to be thinking that Peter and I are actively working behind his back on anything besides fucking in the back of my Jeep.”

“Okay first off, I actually genuinely hate that the first place your mind went for having sex was the back of your Jeep. Just putting that on the record. Secondly, he’s tried murdering like all of us except for Malia and Kira — one of whom is his daughter and the other he’s barely met — so like let’s think about everyone’s reactions to being told you two are sleeping together.”

“Lyds help me out here,” Stiles grabbed her hand and pleaded. He was no Scott McCall but he could turn up the puppy dog eyes when he needed to. “You gotta help.”

Lydia patted the side of his face a few times. “I never said I wasn’t going to, I just wanted you to know how big of a hole you’ve dug yourself into before I helped you out of it.”

“And?” Stiles knew there was something more coming by her tone of voice.

“And was sleeping with him really the first thing you could think of? Why not studying magic or something?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Stiles’ brain short circuited and he stared at Lydia completely dumbfounded. “Uh, Lydia, what the fuck? No. I’m just a teenage boy whose brain usually defaults to sex.”

Lydia smirked and patted his cheek again. “Just checking, now you can wait out here as I go clean up your mess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't planning on having this chapter finished by today but then I got to the scene were peter impales chris with a piece of rebar in s4 and my brain kinda combusted resulting in this chapter getting done.  
I'm just.... so grateful for that scene.... it's so good....................... the way peter talks to/touches chris so gently after brutally impaling him to a wall and trapping him there, presumably to let him die (or maybe he was planning on biting chris afterwards?)  
anyway happy halloween I'm gonna go back to rewatching that scene on prime now for the rest of eternity. I'll have a mcreyes fic out tomorrow for a late contribution to a overwatch friend fic/art exchange  
\----  
follow me online @ [my main twitter](https://twitter.com/smalls2233) or [my nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/smallsnsfw)


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles was full of anxious energy as he drove home at the end of the day. It felt like his chest was tightening with every mile he drove on the way back from school. Scott had asked to hang out and study with him but Stiles was nervous that it was just going to be an excuse to watch over him and make sure that Peter wasn’t going to sneak in for them to fuck.

Stiles groaned and put his head on the steering wheel at a red light at the thought. Why the hell had his mind gone straight to sleeping with Peter as the first excuse? He hated his stupid brain sometimes.

At least Lydia had somewhat calmed down the masses but he was nervous that someone was gonna end up telling his dad and he’d need to explain what was going on to him. He didn’t really want to deal with the blow up of  _ you might be eighteen but why are you sleeping with a man who could be your father… who is also your ex girlfriend’s father? _ The following blow up that would result from him having to explain that no, he was not sleeping with Peter, he just needed an excuse so Scott didn’t find out that he was planning on murdering a dude who was threatening the safety of Beacon Hills.

Stiles pulled into his driveway with a scowl when he noticed another, unfamiliar car sitting in it. It looked like it cost more than any of the houses on his street and the windows were tinted so darkly that there were two options for whose car it was. Either a very successful drug dealer was hanging out at the sheriff’s house or, an even worse potential, it was Peter.

“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles swore as he turned off his car and stormed over to Peter’s car. “Can you not do this, asshole?”

Peter rolled down his window and smirked at Stiles. “You should really get in the car.”

Stiles barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Uh? Hell to the no on that. I really appreciate having all of my internal organs and not being trafficked to somewhere on the black market.”

“Mm, I’m really not giving you an option here, Stiles. Either you get in willingly or I will haul your ass in here myself.”

“Yeah, no.” Stiles shook his head and started walking away from Peter’s car. He wasn’t dealing with that load of bullshit that day. “And I will let someone at the station know about your illegally tinted windows, have fun getting impounded, jackass.”

There was the sound of a car door opening and closing before a hand grabbed the back of his neck. “I told you, I’m not giving you a choice here.” Peter’s voice was a low purr in his ear. “We need to have a little discussion and I don’t want Scott or any other of the puppies interrupting us.”

“You’ve been in my room,” Stiles said flatly, unsure of what else to say. “Without my knowledge.”

Peter looked down at him, eyes unreadable with his sunglasses on. “I’m protecting my investment from a threat.” He pushed Stiles into the open passenger seat of his car and shut the door on him.

“This is abduction, you realize that right? And then there’s the stalking and the breaking and ent—“

“Do me a favor and shut up for a moment,” Peter said dryly, sliding into his seat and reversing his car out of Stiles’ driveway. “Because I promise I’ll have you back safe and sound by dinner time, not a single hair on your head out of place.”

Stiles glared at Peter. “Yeah that doesn’t make this shit any more legal. And also? I’m not your investment dude.”

Peter just smirked. Stiles kinda wanted to run an experiment and see if werewolves could regrow teeth if they were punched out of their stupid smug mouths. The only thing that stopped him was his silly desire not to have a broken hand.

They drove in silence for a few long minutes that felt like they lasted hours. Stiles wasn’t good at silence. He made an attempt to turn on the radio but his hand was quickly swatted away from the dial.

“No music,” Peter said without taking his eyes off the road.

Stiles’ eyes twitched in annoyance. “No music, no conversation, and you said you were gonna return me in good condition?”

“Every time you annoy me means one more horrible torture device I’m going to strap you in. Right now we’re at the low end but go ahead, keep testing my patience, I have plenty I can go through.” Peter was joking, Stiles assumed. At least he hoped he was joking. He was probably joking.

“You know you didn’t have to forcibly abduct me? Like you absolutely brought all of this on yourself.” Stiles rolled his eyes and scowled. “So can you please tell me what the hell this is about and why I shouldn’t have Chris come and shoot you full of wolfsbane?”

The car slowed to a stop at a red light and Peter turned to face Stiles. “I got dragged out of my apartment by my shirt collar today by my nephew demanding to know what I’m doing fucking you. Now the curious bit there is the tiny detail of, well, we’ve never had sex.” Peter had another one of his unreadable expressions on his face and Stiles felt heat creeping down from his cheeks to his chest. 

He hadn’t expected that Scott would have texted Derek. He probably should have, but he hadn’t. “Scott was asking about why he was smelling you in my room — which, I still don’t have an answer for, so please tell me what the fuck you’ve been doing there — and I panicked. I couldn’t tell him that, oh, you know, I’m working with Ra's Al Ghul to kill the caster behind the evil unicorn murdering people. Because, yeah, I knew what the thing was while sending you off to try and find it.” Stiles knew he was rambling, but he had a hard time stopping himself. “I’m pretty sure if I told Scott that he’d never trust me again, even if he said he forgave me, and I probably couldn’t live with that. So the first excuse that came to mind was that we’re sleeping together.”

Peter snorted as the light turned green. “If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just asked me.”

Stiles sputtered, “Uh? What the fuck? No, holy shit, no way in hell.” Internally he kicked himself, that sort of reaction was probably exactly what Peter had been waiting for. He should have just ignored him.

The flash of white teeth Peter gave was proof of that. “No need to sound so disgusted, Stiles.” The nasty grin grew wider as Peter added, “Or smell so conflicted.”

It wasn’t just Stiles’ eye twitching at that point, the entire right side of his face started twitching. “So is there a reason you kidnapped me aside from making fun of me?” He made himself mentally count down from one hundred to stop himself from punching Peter. “Because if there isn’t, I’m going to leave the car no matter the speed it’s moving.”

“Argent is at my apartment already, so you don’t have to worry about your virtue.” The grin that stretched across Peter’s face turned predatory and Stiles stopped himself from swallowing nervously. Don’t react, don’t rise to his bait, those were the rules he needed to follow with Peter. “I scoped out the area around where the caster is at today so I figured the two of you would be interested in a little debriefing.” Stiles didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyebrows raised.

“Hilarious,” Stiles said dryly. “So what did you find?”

Peter wagged a finger and tutted. “You’ll find out when Argent finds out.” He barely slowed as he made a turn, causing Stiles to grab the door to avoid falling over in his seat. “Gotta keep the two of you on even ground lest I get accused of picking favorites.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Tell me this, Peter, does this caster have any werewolves under his control?”

Peter gave no response save for that damn grin.

“How about an alpha?”

A huffed laugh came from Peter’s lips. “No, he does not have an alpha under his control, Stiles. I’m offended at the insinuation that this was all a plan for me to become an alpha again and turn you and dear Christopher into my betas.”

The words gave Stiles no comfort, in fact they did the opposite. A cold shiver ran down his spine as Peter slowed to a stop in a parking space outside his apartment complex. He didn’t see Chris’s SUV in any of the visitor parking spots which led him to believe that Peter had kidnapped him in much the same way. Lovely.

“I do have to wonder, though,” Peter said, sounding thoughtful. “If I offered you the bite again, Stiles, would you decline?”

Peter turned off the car and exited it before Stiles could respond.

——

Chris was guarding a box of pizza from Peter when Stiles came into the apartment. It almost made Stiles smile, the only thing that stopped him was the cold dread that hung over him at the thought of Peter’s question to him.

He didn’t regret not accepting the bite. If he had been meant to be a werewolf, it would have been him bitten that night, not Scott.

But still, he couldn’t get Peter’s words out of his mind.

“Onions and garlic are bad for dogs.” Chris’s words brought Stiles back to reality and he looked up in time to see Chris smacking Peter’s hand away from the pizza. “I’m saving you from having to visit the vet.”

“Dog jokes, how original.” Peter sounded scathingly unimpressed and turned on his heel to face Stiles. “Good, you managed to stop imploding long enough to get in the apartment so we can finally have a discussion.” He clapped his hands together and looked at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles ignored him. “Can I have a slice, Chris?”

Chris smiled widely as he opened up the box to let Stiles grab a slice. Peter’s scowl made the hot pizza taste all the more better. If Peter was going to force them to move at his pace, they would spite him in whatever ways they could. 

Peter’s scowl deepened as he stalked off to his office. “If you want to start moving forward then I’d suggest you put the pizza down and come with me.”

When Peter left the kitchen, Stiles turned to Chris and said in a low voice. “I think the caster has an alpha. Peter denied it and then said he was offended that I would imply he wanted to turn me and you into his betas.”

“ _ Me? _ ” Chris asked, voice equally low. “I don’t like that he’s now starting to see me as a potential investment.” His eyebrows drew together and he set his slice of pizza back down in the box. “Stiles, I’m worried that we’re playing the exact roles that he wants us to.”

Stiles let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I think that’s exactly what’s happening here.” His appetite was thoroughly ruined and he set his half eaten slice next to Chris’s in the box. “But it’s not like we can just stop working with him on this.”

“If there’s an alpha there? We might need to,” Chris said, eyes flickering towards Peter’s office. Stiles briefly wondered if he could hear them.

“If the caster has an alpha under his control and Peter kills him, we’ll be right back at where this mess started.” The worry lines on Chris’s face deepened as he spoke. “But we still need him for this, at least until he tells us where to find the caster.”

“Which he’s not going to do,” Stiles murmured and chewed on his bottom lip. “He knows that we don’t trust him so he’s gonna keep that little bit of information to himself.” He let out a hissing, frustrated breath and his eyes scanned Peter’s apartment.

“If you’re looking for anything that Peter might have tripped up and left out, I’ve already tried. There’s nothing to see except for proof that Peter in fact live here.” Chris apparently didn’t miss the way Stiles was looking around. “He’s careful until he thinks he has all of the pieces set for a checkmate.”

“So we just wait until he starts slipping up?”

“And pray that we don’t get fucked over by him in the meantime,” Chris said, glancing over at the office where they heard Peter loudly shuffling things around.

“We might already be fucked.” Stiles followed Chris’s gaze with a sigh. 

Chris clapped a firm hand between Stiles’ shoulders. “I’m not opposed to stabbing him with a wolfsbane covered knife after we kill the caster.” The confidence of his words didn’t quite make it to his eyes and they looked entirely as scared as Stiles felt.

Maybe Stiles should have been glad that for once, Peter’s plan to become an alpha again didn’t center around killing a family member or Scott. But they still revolved around him and now Stiles had dragged Chris into it. Terror and overwhelming guilt filled him so strongly that he knew Peter could smell it — was probably getting off on it — and he would have been amazed if Chris couldn’t smell it too.

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay.” Chris sounded like he was trying to calm a spooked horse as spoke to Stiles and wrapped his arms around him in a firm hug. It wasn’t quite a werewolf level hug but Stiles felt himself relaxing in it anyway. “I can promise you that I’ll make sure that Peter doesn’t get his way here.”

“Thanks,” Stiles buried his face in Chris’s shirt and screwed his eyes shut.

He hated that he was scared. He had been through so damn much over the past few years but at the end of the day, he was still afraid. It wasn’t like he had decades of training or any supernatural powers to draw on. He was just a highschooler with a loud mouth, a baseball bat, and an apparent talent for magic.

“I really don’t like that the apparent way to calm me down is to give me a hug,” Stiles laughed into Chris’s chest. His heart rate was already beginning to calm down. “It says something about me that’s exceptionally uncool.”

“It’s okay to be scared, Stiles,” Chris murmured, rubbing Stiles’ back. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit, you’re so young.” Chris must have been thinking about Allison by the way he tensed up as he spoke. He had never wanted to make her take part in this supernatural world, never wanted to make her a killer. Stiles just hugged him harder, thinking of the stab from the Oni that had nearly claimed her life and left her crippled. 

Chris let out a shuddering breath as he released Stiles and he knew that was the closest the man ever came to crying. But when he opened his eyes, they were dry and firm.

“Let’s go see what the king of bullshit has in store for us,” Chris said, hand on the small of Stiles’ back.

——

Peter drove like a madman. Stiles thought it had been bad enough when they were driving on the streets of town and he was taking right turns at fourth five miles an hour but on the highway it was even worse. He made the mistake of looking at the speedometer once and instantly regretted it.

When Peter had told him and Chris that they were going to go to the forest on the very edge of town because he knew where the next attack from the unicorn would be, Stiles had assumed it would take them half an hour to get there.

They got there in ten minutes.

“I’m driving on the way back.” Chris gripped the top of Peter’s Mercedes and fixed Peter with a glare. “I’ve not come this far in life to die thanks to you driving like a maniac.”

“I’ve never gotten as much as a speeding ticket before in my life, thank you very much.” Peter’s brief grin flashed white teeth, bright in the moonlight. “I can assure you that you’re quite safe with me.”

“The speeding ticket thing will probably change soon,” Stiles muttered under his breath. It was quiet but he knew Peter heard it.

“One might think you didn’t like me, Stiles.” Peter sounded theatrically hurt, an effect furthered by his exaggerated throwing of his hand over his heart.

“Where’s the horse?” Chris asked, ignoring Peter. His hand brushed against the gun he always carried with him.

Peter smiled his unfriendly smile and unfolded a map of the area on his car. “Since you asked so kindly, Christopher.” He circled an area just off the highway, “We’re here right now and in two hours we need to be here.” He circled an area in the forest several miles away. “Nice and far from the rest of the world, perfect place to commit a crime.”

“Good thing I brought my wolfsbane bullets.” Chris matched Peter’s unfriendly smile with one of his own. “How many people are in the area?”

“It’s going after a group of campers, about five of them. This forest isn’t too popular for camping at this time of the year so they might be the only ones there.” Peter circled around to the trunk of his car and popped it open. In it were some well worn hiking boots and backpacks. 

“Put these on unless you want blisters.” Peter looked down at Stiles’ feet with an unimpressed look and handed him one of the pairs of boots. 

“Sorry for not dressing for a hike I wasn’t aware was going to happen.” Stiles toed off his shoes with a scowl. Peter ignored him and Chris had the hunter look on his face that meant he probably hadn’t paid any attention to the exchange at all, too busy thinking of all of the ways things could go wrong and how to make sure they didn’t happen. 

“Are you sure it’ll strike at ten?” Chris was staring at the map. Stiles wondered if he was mentally cataloguing every potential route the beast would take.

“When Stiles cast the spell, I did more than just find the caster’s location; I saw inside his mind — not a normal occurrence with the spell, but our boy isn’t a normal caster — he knows that the pack is onto him so he wants the unicorn to start killing more to get more energy. It’s also why he’s sending it to the middle of the forest where people barely go at this time of year.”

Chris nodded and drummed his fingers on the map, looking deep in thought. “What other creatures has he turned?”

“There’s a manticore that’s on death’s door, a Phoenix that’s not much better, three lesser fae who are unstable mentally but physically fine, and a Cerberus who’s in the early stages of this.” Peter put Stiles’ shoes in his trunk and handed him a backpack and a night vision headset he probably got from Chris. “The unicorn is probably his most successful creation and therefore what we’ll be seeing tonight.”

“And when will we be seeing the caster?” Stiles asked. He had other questions he wanted to ask, namely how the hell did Peter know his shoe size and what the fuck had he meant by our boy, but at the moment the caster took priority.

“Patience, Stiles dear,” Peter fucking  _ purred _ at him. “I need to confirm with my own two eyes what stage the unicorn is at before we make any unwise decisions and run head first into something that will absolutely kill all three of us.”

Stiles felt a headache building and he glared at Peter. “You said that I’d be back by dinner.”

“I lied.” Peter smiled cheerfully and tossed the other backpack to Chris. “Christopher can call your dad and let him know that you’re helping him with a hunt. He doesn’t have to know that the werewolf you’re sleeping with is also here.”

“I’m going to fucking murder you,” Stiles said flatly.

“Sleeping with?” Chris looked up from the map for the first time. At first he looked concerned and then he looked furious. “Peter, I swear to god, if you’d laid a finger on him…” Chris snarled and grabbed Peter by the neck, slamming him against a tree. “He’s in  _ high school _ .”

Peter gave Chris a knowing smirk and shook his head. “Don’t clutch your pearls at me, Christopher. I’ve done nothing uncouth with Stiles. You should ask him why there’s a rumor running around about me sleeping with him.”

Two heads turned to face him and Stiles wished that the ground would just swallow him up. “I panicked when Scott asked me why my room smelled of Peter — which for the hundredth time, I still don’t have an answer for — and said that we were sleeping together because I couldn’t think of any other excuse to get everyone off my back.”

“So you can let me go now, safely assured that I’ve not tainted his purity.” Peter and Chris shared a look before Chris released his grip on the werewolf’s throat. When released, Peter rolled his head and adjusted his v-neck. “And, just so you know, he might be in high school but he  _ is  _ an adult. Albeit one who’s a year younger than Allison.”

Chris looked like he was about to punch Peter before he forcibly collected himself. “If you’re done, Peter, how about we start hiking so we can set up a perimeter.” A vein bulged on his forehead and his shoulders were tight. “You can scout ahead of us— that way you don’t accidentally trip onto my knife.”

Peter at the very least had the sense to stop riling up Chris. “My wish is your command, my dear hunter.” The deep bow he gave made Stiles rethink his decision on Peter’s sense, seeing as he still had to get in one last taunt. 

But Chris was done giving Peter any reactions. He just brushed past him and shouldered the backpack. “We’re going, Stiles,” he barked out the order.

As Stiles scrambled after Chris, he didn’t see the way Peter’s eyes glowed blue in the moonlight nor his bright, smug grin.

——

By the end of the hike, Stiles wondered if he was going to need to have Chris carry him on the way back to Peter’s car. Realistically he had known that they were going a long way from the parking lot to where the campers were, but god the actual process of hiking through animal trails and trying not to trip over roots hidden in the darkness was awful. He had thought the preserve could be a nightmare to run around in at night, but this forest could probably take the cake.

“Peter realizes that I have school tomorrow, right?” Stiles asked as they got to the last quarter mile of the miserable hike. 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a fuck.” Chris paused to help Stiles climb over a fallen log. “When he kidnapped me this afternoon he told me to grab a tent for camping before I told him that he could shove it up his ass.”

Stiles shivered. “Camping with Peter Hale sounds like a recipe for being found in multiple pieces strewn throughout the forest.”

“I feel like I have to keep reminding you all that my hearing still works quite well.” Peter slinked out of the darkness, arms folded tightly across his chest. “And even if it didn’t, it’s considered rude to talk about someone behind their back.”

Stiles smiled and clapped his hands together, “How fantastic for you! Did you know it’s also considered rude to abduct a guy in front of his own house?” So he was annoyed and letting it show, sue him. Peter did everything on his own timeline and refused to give a single inch. At some point the frustration that had been bubbling up was going to boil over.

“Stiles,” Chris warned in a low voice.

Stiles waved him off. “No, I’m not stopping.” He took a few steps forward and stabbed a finger into Peter’s chest. “I’m tired of your crock of horseshit and your games.”

“You wound me.” The expression plastered on Peter’s face with his narrowed eyes and twitching corners of his lips made Stiles think of a cat who was playing with its food. 

The only thing that stopped Stiles from screaming in frustration and turning around and walking right back to the car were the facts that it was a several mile hike and there was no way in hell Peter would go let him into the car and drive him home until he was finished with what he came there for. Stiles really didn’t want to explain to his father why he needed a ride home at midnight while sat next to a car that wasn’t Chris’s SUV but a luxury sedan.

Trapped in the woods with Peter, forced to play his game. Stiles snarled in frustration, a sound that he was sure rivaled any werewolf’s snarl.

“Careful, pup,” Peter said with a dangerous grin. Then, just because he’s an asshole, he added, “You can’t forget that you’re alone in the woods with me.”

The way Chris’s eyes narrowed were less of Peter’s smug cat face and more of a visual representation of the amount of patience he had left. “Keep moving, it’s almost ten.”

For a moment, Stiles thought that Peter was going to give Chris another mocking bow. But instead, he just wordlessly turned on his heels and started to stalk through the underbrush once again. 

Chris grunted and jerked his chin, “We need to get set up soon.” So Chris was entirely as annoyed as Stiles was.

“Nothing brings men together like a common, insufferable enemy.” Stiles laughed quietly to himself as he followed Chris’s glare to Peter’s retreating form. He readjusted his backpack and started to follow Chris once again.

“If one day there’s news about the murder of an unidentifiable man in a v-neck, I want you to cover my ass, Stiles,” Chris growled. 

Stiles snorted, “Dude I’d help you hide the body.”

“Of course you would.” Chris grabbed Stiles’ arm and helped heave him over a rocky outcrop. They were close to the campsite at that point and Stiles could vaguely see the fire through the trees. 

They walked in silence until they nearly ran into Peter who was crouched next to a tree. His eyes flashed in the darkness, reflecting the light from the fire, and he put a finger to his lips.

The way Peter’s mood so quickly changed unnerved Stiles. There was no mixture of smugness and annoyance in his gaze as he appraised Chris and Stiles. He just looked serious, businesslike. 

Meanwhile Stiles was still fighting back boiling rage at the very sight of him. Chris seemed to be doing better thanks to decades of learning to compartmentalize when shit needed done, but Stiles knew him well enough by that point to notice the way his jaw twitched in annoyance.

“They’re so carefree,” Peter said quietly, turning his head to stare at the campers. “They don’t realize what’s coming for them.”

Stiles took off his backpack and sat cross legged on the ground next to it. “Are we going to do anything to help them?”

If Stiles hadn’t known him better, he would have thought Peter looked almost sad and regretful. “There’s no saving them, all we can do is watch.”

“You don’t have to watch,” Chris said softly. He unzipped his backpack and set out a few tools and pieces of monitoring equipment. Stiles wondered how many times Chris had watched innocent people die, unable to step in lest he ruin the hunt. By the look on his face, it had been too many.

“I’m going to do what I have to,” Stiles said. He watched a guy spill beer as he wildly gestured at the side of the campfire and felt a twinge of sadness in his belly.

He forced it down. He knew what it was like to be helpless as he watched people die. It happened before with the Nogitsune, it was worse then since he could feel the Nogitsune’s glee as people suffered.

At least there was no glee in the company he was in at the moment.

Peter was a heartless bastard but he didn’t seem to get off on suffering he didn’t cause himself. Chris was fond of self flagellation but Stiles thought it was more of a punishment for himself surviving while everyone he cared about suffered. 

No one was happy as the unicorn made its way through the underbrush into the clearing where the unsuspecting campers waited at exactly ten.

It looked nothing like what Stiles had expected. He was expecting a smaller, white horse with a smooth horn. Or maybe he was expecting it to be jet black. But it wasn’t.

“Jesus,” Chris murmured as the unicorn paused in front of the fire. It was gigantic, bigger than any draft horse and its black fur was iridescent like an oil slick, reflecting the firelight in a sickening rainbow. 

It was beautiful, in a horrifying way. The way its mane seemed to be made of a poisonous vapor rather than fur was strangely appealing, it made Stiles interested in seeing what it looked like uncorrupted. The way its eyes glowed made him curious. But the most compelling feature on it was its horn.

The horn was unlike what Stiles had expected. It wasn’t the pearlescent, straight horn that he was imagining. No, the horn seemed to be hewn from amethyst and curved cruelly. It had jagged outcroppings that reminded Stiles of the thorns on the stem of a rose.

Stiles dragged his eyes from it to see Chris snapping photos of it, likely to record in the Argent bestiary. Peter seemed thoughtful as he stared at it.

“It’s beautiful,” Peter murmured, not taking his eyes from the beast. “I’ve seen nightmares but they don’t come even remotely close to this.”

“What do they look like?” Stiles asked despite himself. 

“Their fur is black as night but you can see the fire thrumming beneath their skin. Much like how you can see the corrupted unicorn’s mane is made of vapor, the nightmare’s mane is hellfire.” He leaned forward, staring at the unicorn more intensely. “I thought they were beautiful once but now? They just look plain in comparison to this majestic creature.”

Stiles agreed until he didn’t. The majesty of the corrupted unicorn lasted until he saw its eyes narrow as the campers approached it and it ripped open their chests with its horn. Chris had started to record the scene. The job of a hunter was never done, even if there was only one corrupted unicorn in the world and it would hopefully go back to being a normal one by the end of the month.

The sound of the screams and the wet noise as the unicorn tore out their organs would haunt him in his nightmares. But they were just another addition to his crowded mind.

Peter squeezed Stiles’ hand as he screwed his eyes shut and Stiles squeezed back. He didn’t let him think about whose hand he was taking comfort from. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter just exists in a state of knifecat honestly. just imagine that's the face he's making every time he speaks and it's either chris or stiles, or even better, chris and stiles pointing knives at him  
\----  
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	5. Chapter 5

Lydia had been correct about the werewolf guard that would be posted. Stiles figured he shouldn’t have been surprised since Lydia was usually right. 

The werewolf on guard duty that night turned out to be Isaac who looked at Stiles with furrowed brows as he hopped out of Chris’s car.

“Where have you been?” The interrogation started immediately, Stiles really shouldn’t have been surprised. Hell, if it had been Derek there, he’d probably have had a nose on his neck, trying to see if he reeked of Peter. Which he probably did, just not for the reason that everyone had been assuming.

“Shouldn’t you be macking on Allison?” Stiles asked before turning to the car. “Thanks for the ride, Chris.”

Isaac flushed, “Seriously, dude? In front of  _ him _ ?”

Stiles felt like he had taken a step back to sophomore year at the sight of Chris’s smile. “Good night, Isaac,” Chris called. Scott had told him in detail about the disastrous night at the Argent’s for dinner back when Kate shot Derek and he couldn’t help wonder how many dinners like that Isaac had sat through with Chris and Allison.

Chris drove off and Stiles fixed Isaac with a glare. “I don’t need a werewolf bodyguard to keep Peter from coming over and, to answer your earlier question, I was helping Chris out with a hunt.”

Isaac frowned, “Stiles we’re worried about you. Like— this is  _ Peter  _ we’re talking about.”

Stiles unlocked his front door and scowled at Isaac. “I appreciate the concern but I can promise you I know full well what — and who — I’m doing.” He paused before opening the door. “Just go back to Scott’s, Isaac. The only thing I’m planning on doing tonight is sleeping.”

Isaac had that kicked puppy look on his face that wrenched Stiles’ heart. “Scott’s worried about you.”

Those words were a gut punch.

“I’m fine, dude, I promise,” Stiles said gently and walked into his house, shutting the door behind him. He knew Isaac was still waiting outside the door, concern plastered all over his features.

“The puppies care about you.” Peter’s cool voice made Stiles nearly jump out of his skin. “It’s really quite sweet.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles hissed. There was no way in hell Peter didn’t know that the pack was going to keep Stiles’ place under strict supervision to make it a No Zombie Werewolf Zone.

“You were distressed tonight, it’d be irresponsible of me if I didn’t make sure you were okay.” Peter walked out of the dark and laid his hand under Stiles’ chin, tilting it up. “We are pack afterall.”

Stiles brushed Peter’s hand away. “As I’m sure you heard me telling Isaac, I’m fine, Peter.”

Stiles had hoped that Peter would drop the matter, but of course he didn’t. “You just watched five people get viciously murdered. I don’t have to be a werewolf to tell how rattled it got you.”

“I lived through the Nogitsune bombing the station in my body, I’m fine.”

Peter grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck and led him through his house with such familiarity that it made him feel vaguely nauseated. “You’re not fine, Stiles, you smell like the complete opposite of fine right now.”

“I could scream for Isaac and he’d rip your throat out right now.”

“Then do it.” Peter spun Stiles around in front of his bedroom door so he could stare into his eyes. “Call for him right now, I’ll even stand still and help him rip my throat out.”

Stiles worked his jaw and glared at Peter. “Just leave, Peter.”

“I will if you answer this question for me.” Peter laid a hand on the wall behind Stiles. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you; I just don’t trust or like you.”

“So then what would I need to do to get you to trust me?” Peter asked, head cocked to the side. “I want to know how many times I’ll need to say that I’m on your side until you believe me.”

Stiles laughed, it was a bitter sound. “You only play for your side.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I liked you, Stiles.” Peter was far too close to him and Stiles couldn’t help his shiver. “You and Christopher interest me in a way few people do. Especially humans.”

“What’s your game here, Peter? Get close to me so you can tear out Scott’s spine?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Peter’s breath ghosted across Stiles’ ear as he leaned in. “I’m not after Scott’s alpha spark and I mean no harm to his little teenage pack.”

“So then what are you after?” Despite everything, Stiles found himself believing Peter’s words. Even if he was after the power of an alpha again, he could have found a way to gain it without hurting anyone that Stiles cared about. 

“You’re a smart boy, I’m sure you can figure that out yourself.”

_ You _ , was the answer that Peter refused to say, Stiles thought. Maybe he wasn’t after Scott’s alpha spark but he still wanted to take something from the pack. The hungry look in Peter’s eyes was directed towards Stiles like it had been since they first met in the hospital. 

“Just leave, Peter.” Stiles knew how tired and sad he sounded, but in the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care about showing Peter weakness. He knew that if it wasn’t that weakness he showed to Peter, it would be another one. One that Stiles wasn’t sure that he wanted to think about himself.

“We both know that’s not what you really want.” Despite his words, Peter backed off and started retreating down the hall. “You know where to find me whenever you change your mind, Stiles.”

Stiles silently watched Peter’s retreating form as he hopped out of a window and leaned his head against the wall behind him. He waited there like that for a few moments before he walked into his bedroom and flopped down on his bed. When he dreamt, his dreams were filled with oil slicks, red, red blood, and the screams of the dead.

——

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Stiles was broken out of his daytime nightmare by Lydia’s gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Five more people died last night,” Stiles answered. “I saw it happen in front of me.”

Lydia’s brows knit together and she pulled him aside into Coach’s empty office. “What happened?”

“Peter kidnapped me and Chris last night and we ended up staking out the unicorn.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “It was… it was massive, Lydia. Bigger than any draft horse and it radiated darkness. I don’t think the campers even fully processed what was happening before it had its horn in them. Maybe that was a mercy, but I just can’t get their screams out of my head.”

Lydia paled. “What color was the horn?”

“It looked like was made of amythe—“ Stiles broke off and looked up at Lydia. “You haven’t seen this thing, right?”

“In person? No. In my nightmares where it stabs someone I care about — someone different every time? Yes. I thought they were just stress dreams but now I’m not so sure.”

Stiles swore softly. “We need to tell Chris and Peter. If you’re dreaming of it stabbing people then…”

“Then it means someone’s going to die.” Lydia grabbed Stiles’ arm and started walking. “We’re going to Peter’s, tell Chris to meet us there.”

“It’s the middle of the day, if we just leave, someone’s gonna get suspicious.”

A grin pulled at the corners of Lydia’s mouth. “Not if we tell my mom that you’re taking me home because I have a migraine. She gets pretty bad ones, so…” Lydia winked at him. “It’s been a go to for ages for me.”

“You’re a demon, Lydia,” Stiles laughed. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two were on their way to Peter’s apartment, officially excused from class. Any other day, in any other circumstance, Stiles would have been thrilled. But unfortunately, killer unicorns the size of a large truck tended to put a damper on good moods.

“Lying to Scott about this shit makes me feel like the most garbage human being to ever touch this planet.” He couldn’t get Isaac’s kicked puppy face out of his mind. “Like, he’s the greatest person in the world and here I am going behind his back, watching people get killed, and working with the fucking devil to murder someone.”

Lydia placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and looked at him gently. “If this thing is as scary as you described and what’s been in my nightmares, we’re making the right choice here.”

“It doesn’t make it suck any less.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t there last night,” Lydia said quietly. “I’ve walked into so many horrific murder scenes but it doesn’t get any easier.” She shuddered slightly and looked out the window. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw one happen in front of me, not a hallucination, but something real.”

“It was horrible.” Stiles thought back to his nightmare from the previous night. The oil and the blood that mixed into something nauseating and the screams echoed loudly in his mind. “I want to make sure that it never does what it did last night again.”

They sat in thoughtful silence for the remainder of the drive to Peter’s apartment. It was only when Stiles pulled into a visitors spot that he quietly said. “Peter told me last night that he wasn’t going to harm the pack.” He paused and Lydia looked at him expectantly. “I… I feel stupid for saying this, but I think I trust him on that. Like, despite everything, I don’t think he was lying.”

Out of everyone Stiles knew, Lydia had the most reasons to laugh in his face. But instead she just blinked at him. “I trust your judgement, Stiles. I don’t like him, but I also don’t think he’s a heartless monster.”

Lydia paused as she got out of Stiles’ Jeep. “He seems to genuinely care about Malia and he’s given me space after making me have a complete mental breakdown. So I think he’s a total piece of shit, but who knows, maybe he’ll become an alpha and just leave Beacon Hills for good afterwards.”

“If only we could get that lucky,” Stiles laughed. But his laugh turned sour at the end, “He wants me, Lydia. The scary part is I don’t know how long I’ll be able to turn him down for.” He thought of the way Peter’s breath ghosted over his ear as he whispered into it the previous night — he thought of Peter’s firm hands around him, and swallowed hard. 

“Sweetie, I slept with Aidan way longer than I should of because he was hot and had a great dick. It would have been a crime for me to have not climbed him like a tree.” The matter of fact manner in which Lydia spoke nearly drew a laugh from Stiles. “Peter’s disgustingly hot in a supervillain way, so it’s not like I don’t see why you’d be conflicted here.”

“You’re really raising my confidence in my ability to hold out here,” Stiles said dryly. 

“I’m just saying, it makes sense that you’d find him hot. I mean I do and he literally destroyed my mind sophomore year. Whether you hold out or not, I think you can beat him at his own game.”

“And how would I do that?” Stiles asked.

“You’ve already added pieces to it that he hadn’t been expecting. Just keep doing that, he has his plans but you can have yours.”

“That’s… not a terrible idea actually.”

Lydia smirked. “I know. I don’t have bad ideas.”

Stiles held the door to the apartment complex open for Lydia. “Unless you count skipping school to go meet with Peter Hale.”

“Details,” Lydia waved him off. “But I don’t like the fact that he’s after you.”

“Nobody does.” Chris was standing at the elevators, waiting for one to come to the ground floor.

“Unfortunately it’s Peter and he still hasn’t told us where to find the caster, he just gave us visual confirmation that yes the horse is real and it’s fucking terrifying. So we’re stuck with this for the meantime,” Stiles hissed out a frustrated breath. 

“I can kill him.” Chris stared at the elevator doors as they opened up. “God knows I’ve been given enough reasons to slash his throat.”

“Do me a favor and save the throat slashing for when I’m not in the room.” Lydia’s tone was bright but Stiles could see the way her hands tensed. 

Chris hit the button for Peter’s floor and looked at Lydia with sympathy in his eyes. “You don’t have to come with us.”

Lydia shook her head. “I can deal with Peter. I don’t like him, but I’m a big girl and can handle people I dislike. I’d just like to be kept away from as many bloody scenes as possible.”

“There’s people I can talk to, resources I can find to help you.” Chris sounded thoughtful as he softly spoke. His fingers traced the braille by the elevator buttons. “You don’t have to keep waking up by bodies.”

Lydia smiled, it was sad and bone weary expression. “Allison has already given me the info most of your contacts who could help. It’s helped a little but I’m not sure that there’s not much more anyone can do.”

It was so goddamned unfair that everyone else had something magnificent to balance out the suck that came with being a supernatural. Sure, the werewolves had to fight rage and the desire to kill, but they were blessed with becoming Superman outside of that. Kira was crazy fast and couldn’t be electrocuted, she just had to fight her urges to cause trouble. But Lydia? She got nightmares and visions. No super strength, no super speed. Just an occasional hallucinations that tormented her no matter if she was awake or dreaming.

Stiles was pulled out of his thoughts as the elevator slowed and the doors opened as they got to Peter’s floor and Stiles and Lydia followed Chris to Peter’s apartment. Stiles felt tension coiling in his gut with every step. He hoped that he’d never stop feeling the same kind of nervous tension at the thought of Peter. Nervousness was better than falling into an easy rhythm with the capricious werewolf. Relaxing around Peter was dangerous.

Peter’s cold voice cut through the silence in the hall. “Even more teenagers to avoid my home, lovely. What’s next? Next year’s Halloween party at my apartment rather than the loft?” Peter was waiting outside his door. He looked to be genuinely annoyed as he glared at the group. It was so different from the tender looks he had given Stiles the previous night. 

“You invaded my head, I can invade your apartment.” Lydia stood up straighter and fixed Peter with a scathing look.

Stiles wanted to add that Peter had frequently broken into his home, but Lydia’s point seemed strong enough.

“Touché,” Peter murmured. “May I know what’s so important that you two aren’t at school and are instead bothering me?”

“We thought your social life was so pathetic that you needed the visit.” Stiles drummed his fingers on his forearms as he crossed his arms against his chest. “And Lydia’s been having nightmares.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “While I’m flattered that you think I can give her a kiss on the forehead and some warm milk to keep her nightmares away, I’m not her therapist. I don’t see why this is relevant to me.”

“She’s a banshee, jackass. She’s been dreaming of the unicorn killing people she knows. Which means one of us is probably going to die.”

“Or someone else is going to die, to be entirely honest I wouldn’t mind seeing some of your friends be gutted by it.” Despite his words, Peter opened his door and walked into his apartment. He didn’t formally invite them in but he also didn’t slam the door in their faces. Stiles took it as invitation enough.

“How pleasant.” Lydia’s words were clipped but she was the first one through the door, head held high and shoulders square. 

Stiles didn’t have nearly her poise nor silent grace as he followed her inside.

“I expected more dead bodies and less Martha Stewart.” Lydia raised an eyebrow as she inspected the apartment.

“The sex dungeon’s in the first guest bedroom on the left and the well where I toss the bodies is in the other one.” Peter was leaning against a wall and stared at them with a dry expression. “Now what other details do you remember from you dream? Any landmarks?”

“You already know where the caster is, why do you need more landmark details?” Stiles asked.

“Because I want to know if someone’s going to die before I’m ready to confront him or while we’re confronting him. Use your brain before asking a question the next time. Lydia, details.” Peter looked towards Lydia and tilted his head ever so slightly upwards.

“Forgive me for mostly only paying attention to the giant murder horse killing people I love, but I don’t remember much of the surroundings. It’s mostly just dark.” Lydia shrugged and met Peter’s eyes with a firm gaze. “There might have been a window there, but again, darkness and terrifying horses tend to not leave much room for appreciating the scenery.”

“Well tell everyone you care about to stay in well lit rooms for the next couple of weeks and you’ll be all good.” Peter clasped his hands together. “Now is there anything else you need or can I get back to running my IRS scams without getting interrupted?”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Easy, Peter, you shouldn’t make up jobs that sound like something you’d actually enjoy doing.”

“I’m going to your office, the old ladies will have to keep their five thousand dollars in iTunes gift cards for now.” Stiles rolled his eyes at the glare the two men shared but he wasn’t able to stop the twinge of curiosity that built up in him. He knew the Hales were loaded but he had no clue what Peter did. Even if he didn’t have an honest job, Stiles was interested in knowing what he did to pass the days.

But learning what Peter did in his free time besides scheme and cook babies wasn’t what they were all there for. Even if Peter wasn’t taking Lydia’s dream seriously, he had a wealth of resources in his office that Stiles could make use of.

“My apartment isn’t a public library,” Peter said with a frown. “I don’t want your high school study groups here when you have history projects.” And in a lower voice he added, “At least call ahead, it’s common courtesy.” 

“Lydia, Stiles, go ahead. Give me and Peter a moment to talk.” Chris’s gaze flickered between them and Peter. Stiles wanted to object but Lydia grabbed his wrist and tugged him down the hall.

“Let them duke it out,” she said quietly. “To be entirely honest here whatever’s going on between them is going to end in them blowing each other’s brains out one way or another.”

Stiles stared at Lydia for several long moments as his brain processed her words. It happened slowly and his brows drew closer together as his jaw dropped when her meaning finally clicked. “ _ Lydia _ ,” he hissed, feeling strangely scandalized.

Lydia’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Stiles, you can’t tell me you haven’t been thinking the same thing.”

“Uh, no.” Usually Stiles couldn’t shut up but he was having trouble finding words to say. “Dude they fucking loathe each other.”

“Do you think I liked Aidan during all that bullshit?” Lydia asked. When Stiles didn’t respond, she continued. “Sometimes if you hate someone enough it leads to some  _ really _ wild sex.”

The image of Peter on his knees for Chris flashed in his eyes and Stiles shook his head to clear out the thought. “I’m just going to pretend like you didn’t just say all of that to me. We’re never going to talk about that topic again and instead move to something more productive.” He opened the door to the office and stepped inside. It was more organized than the last time, there were still some books out but every surface wasn’t overflowing with them. “We can do some research and try and figure out your dream.”

——

Stiles hated that his dad has been on night shift for the past while. Having freedom of the house was great until there was no one to wake him from his nightmares.

His house was empty when he got back from dropping Lydia off at her place. After dealing with Peter — who had been in a much better mood after Chris’s talk with him, something Lydia had raised a brow at — Chris had taken Stiles and her out for dinner before letting them head back home. That had been a nice distraction from the hell that was the rest of his life. But unfortunately, all distractions had to end at some point.

Stiles ran his hand along the bannister as he walked up the stairs. Mentally, he counted the number of times his fingers brushed the wood, an old habit he hadn’t been able to break. He took the steps slowly, afraid of what would happen when he finally laid down to go to bed.

There was nothing that he hated more than being so terrified of going to sleep. The memories of the Nogitsune still haunted him, especially the times where he couldn’t tell when he was awake or asleep. The nights where he screamed himself awake after the endless loops of dreams had been the worst, but his newfound inability to close his eyes without seeing the corrupted unicorn tearing open ribcages like they were made of tissue paper and balsa wood was starting to get up there.

When he was with other people, he was able to distract his mind from it. With Lydia, he could find comfort in knowing she was haunted by the same sorts of dreams. But alone it was so easy to be overwhelmed.

Stiles paused at the top of the stairs and pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over Chris’s name in his contacts for longer than it should have. Thinking of Chris was comforting, he knew the man would understand without asking. But Allison would be there and he didn’t want to explain to her why he was suddenly so close to her dad.

Scott was the next person he thought of. After everything with the Nogitsune, Scott had been so patient with him and let him sleep at his place whenever he couldn’t stand being alone in the house. But it had been months since he had last needed to do that.

Stiles let out a shaky breath and dialed in a number that wasn’t in his contacts. He felt like he was making a mistake but he also knew that they were the one person who wouldn’t ask too many questions. 

“No, you can’t invite the lacrosse team over for a post game celebration.” Stiles could hear the way Peter rolled his eyes as he answered the phone after a few rings.

“Hysterical, Peter,” Stiles responded dryly. “So I guess the orgy with the cheerleading team is out of the question too?”

“Unless you show up in uniform.”

A laugh bubbled from Stiles chest, surprising himself. “In your dreams, you fucking pervert.”

A low chuckle played over his phone’s speaker before Peter asked, “So besides taunting me with the thought of your skinny ass in a skirt, what did you need?”

Stiles paused, breath catching in his throat. “My dad’s working the night shift and…” he paused and swallowed hard. He knew he was making a bad decision but he couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t think I can be alone tonight. Can I come and crash on your couch? Fair warning, I tend to scream myself awake when I have nightmares. I’d ask Chris but he has Allison and explaining all this to her would end in disaster.”

“I’ll pick you up.” Peter’s response was instant. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“I can drive mys—“ Stiles started to protest but was cut off.

“Just be ready and waiting for me at the door.”

Before Stiles could respond, Peter had hung up. He shuddered to think of the speeds Peter would be hitting to make it to his place in ten minutes. If he had been in a spiteful mood, he could have called up his dad to let him know that his deputies should be on the lookout for a black Mercedes going at least double the speed limit. Hell, after Peter’s chilly reception of him, Chris, and Lydia earlier, he should have.

But he wasn’t going to jeopardize his chance of not waking up from his nightmares in an empty house. Insufferable, smug, capricious bastard that Peter might have been, he still was a warm body that wouldn’t ask questions.

Peter showed up almost exactly ten minutes later and slowed to a stop on the street outside Stiles’ house. He didn’t say anything as Stiles shouldered his backpack and slid into the passenger seat of the car, he just had the music on a low thrum and let Stiles stare out the window.

After a while, Peter spoke, “I’m sorry that you saw what happened last night.” He had a note in his voice that would have sounded like genuine concern if it had come from anyone else. 

“I’ve seen a lot of terrible shit, it’s just giving me nightmares because it’s the most recent, not because it’s the worse.” The way the Nogitsune reveled in causing pain had been his worst source of nightmare after everything ended. There were nights where he had woken up screaming after dreaming of himself carving apart Scott or Allison or his dad and feeling nothing but pure joy as he felt their pain and agony flow through him. 

Give him a few weeks and he’d probably be back to those nightmares. Maybe in a week his nightmare would be him and the Nogitsune as the unicorn, celebrating as they tore hearts from chests.

“I still dream of the fire and watching as my entire family died while I lived.” Peter wasn’t looking at Stiles as he spoke. “It’s common knowledge that we butted heads, but I genuinely loved my sister. You’ll go through much the same with Scott in your future; he wants peace to be bloodshed free but you know the true cost of a happy ending.”

Stiles’ lips twitched into an ironic smile. “To be entirely honest, I don’t know if a happily ever after is possible.”

“It’s not.” Peter shook his head and flicked on his turn signal before taking a right turn. “But it’s even less possible if you won’t get off your moral high ground to do what’s necessary. I suppose that’s why packs have enforcers, that way only one person has to dirty their hands if the rest of the pack wants to stay pure.”

“We’re so fucked up,” Stiles laughed bitterly. “You, me, and Chris, just a trio of seriously fucked up dudes.”

“I’m the pinnacle of mental health. Maybe you and Argent should see therapists but I’ve never met a man more well adjusted than me.”

Stiles was surprised by how genuine his laugh was at that. “And so humble.”

Peter’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “There’s nothing worse than false modesty.” 

“Maybe learn how to turn the false modesty into real modesty— that’s my suggestion.”

“I’d say that I would take that to heart, but then I’d be lying.” Peter slowed as he turned into his complex and parked. His eyes flickered to Stiles, “You’re going to be grilled at school tomorrow.”

Stiles winced. “There was a reason you weren’t my first choice besides me just being afraid that you’d murder me in my sleep.” He fought the urge to pull out his phone, there were probably already several missed calls from Scott, asking about why the hell he got into a car with Peter. Honestly, he was surprised that his werewolf guard of the night hadn’t confronted them.

“I base all of my self worth over being your first choice in all situations so I’m incredibly hurt right now.” Peter got out of the car and cocked an eyebrow expectantly at Stiles. 

“I’m sure you do.” Stiles swung his backpack over a shoulder and grabbed his pillow. “I bet my opinion means everything to you.”

“You know it does.” Peter pinched Stiles’ chin between two fingers and shook it lightly. “Every time you disapprove of my actions I can feel myself withering away just that much more.”

Stiles laughed again and he couldn’t believe that he was genuinely enjoying spending time with Peter. He tried to remind himself of the nervousness he should have been feeling, the way Peter had been an absolute jackass earlier, but all of those failed to mean anything as Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulders to lead him inside. 

“I have some homework I need to do,” Stiles said when they got inside Peter’s apartment. He threw his pillow on the couch and set his backpack down next to the kitchen table. 

“How mundane,” Peter sounded slightly interested and he hovered.

“I  _ am  _ a human, there has to be something mundane about me.”

“What do they teach you these days anyway?” Peter asked as Stiles took some notebooks out of his backpack. “Apparently manners are out of the curriculum.”

“They must have done a shit job teaching you them back in the fifteen hundreds.”

Peter huffed out a low laugh. “I might have skipped those days, too busy sacrificing virgins in the woods.”

Stiles grinned and laughed along with him. “Anyway, I have a big report slash research project thing for history I’ve been working on gathering my thoughts for.”

“What’s it on?” Peter pulled out a chair and sat down next to Stiles at the table. 

“Cuba in the Cold War and how smaller countries suffered thanks to Russia and the US’s dick measuring contest.” Stiles flipped open one of the notebooks to the page that covered his general idea for the paper. “It’s supposed to be like our big hurrah research project for our senior year.”

“I really hope ‘How Smaller Countries Suffered Thanks To Russia And The United States’ Dick Measuring Contest’ is the actual title you’re going with.”

They slipped into a comfortable silence after that with Stiles getting engrossed in his prep work. Occasionally, he’d ask Peter for his feedback on an idea or Peter would ask him about something he was writing down. After a while, Peter got up from the table to cook himself a quick dinner. Whatever it was smelled amazing.

“Are you hungry?” Peter asked, midway through cooking.

“No, I’m good, Chris took Lydia and I out earlier.” He tried to ignore the way he was drooling internally.

“Good because I wasn’t going to feed you anyway.” There was a teasing glint in Peter’s eyes that hadn’t been there earlier that day when he invaded his apartment.

“Asshole,” Stiles laughed.

After a moment of trying and failing to focus on his project, Stiles asked Peter, “So what do you do anyway, like for a job?”

Peter cocked a brow at him and chewed his bite of food slowly. “Why the hell would I have a job? I’ve got enough both in the bank and invested to keep me set for life,” he said after he swallowed. “I used to be a lawyer before the fire, but the whole six years in a coma thing meant it would be more of a pain in the ass to get started than it was worth.”

“Yeah, you being a lawyer checks out,” Stiles hummed. “Let me guess, criminal prosecution and you really liked making them cry.”

Fangs flashed when Peter grinned at him. “I made one guy piss himself once, it was great.”

Stiles could picture that so easily it was almost scary. There was no way Peter had been any less of an intelligent asshole back before the fire so it was easy to imagine him humiliating a defendant before the judge. “It’s way too easy to imagine this situation, I bet all the defense attorneys hated you.”

“Oh they despised me, I only ever lost a few cases. I had my car get keyed once after I humiliated one of the top defense attorneys in court and you can bet your ass I made the guy who did it pay.”

“Terrifying.”

Peter smirked and took another bite of his dinner. “I was also a hitman for a while.”

Stiles paused. “You’re joking, right?”

Peter didn’t say anything, he just kept the smirk on his face.

“This is another underground network of caves, yeah?” Stiles tried again.

He never did get an answer from Peter that night. He made himself feel a little better by telling himself that Peter was joking.

By the time eleven rolled around, Stiles was fighting to stay awake. It wasn’t unusual for him to be up late but he was still fighting exhaustion from the previous night’s trek and the low thrum of the news on Peter’s tv made his eyes feel like lead.

“Do you have any blanket or something I can use on your couch?” Stiles asked.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“So a guest bed then?”

“You’re not sleeping alone, I can smell the anxiety rolling off of you.”

Stiles felt his brows draw together as his mind thought over Peter’s words. “Dude I know I told my friends we were sleeping together but that was a lie.”

Peter growled, a sound from low in his chest. “I’m not going to violate you, Stiles. I’m also not going to have you waking up my neighbors with your screams in the middle of the night.”

“Pretty sure sleeping in the same bed as you isn’t the solution to my night terrors. Jesus, no wonder you refused to help Lydia out with her nightmares.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, they were flashing wolf blue and Stiles wondered how close the wolf was under his skin. “Shut up and trust me.”

“That’s asking a lot.”

Peter stood up and stalked over to him. Stiles’ eyes flickered to the claws that grew and sank back into his skin, like he was flexing them as a cat would. “I’m not going to do anything that would hurt you. Trust me and stop having nightmares for a night or don’t trust me and have fun being tormented by the horrors in your mind.”

Stiles met Peter’s eyes and couldn’t help the way he softened as he wondered how many nights Peter had suffered alone with his own horrors playing behind his eyelids. “If you try anything, I’m going to help Chris rearrange your guts.” He winced as he reconsidered the words he spoke.

Luckily from him, Peter didn’t say anything, probably unwilling to risk his chance to have Stiles in his bed. Stiles had no doubt in his mind that he’d be mercilessly teased about his choice of phrase at a later point by Peter. He had that look in his eyes like he was cataloguing blackmail.

“In bed with a psychopathic werewolf, my lucky day,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

“No need to sound so happy about it, pup,” Peter stalked ahead of him to his bedroom. “I’ll be in the shower.”

Stiles grabbed his pillow off of the couch and the pajamas he packed from his backpack. He stared at the ratty bottoms of the sweatpants and wished for a moment that he had packed something nicer. He should have assumed that Peter was going to be a fucking creep and insist they shared a bed, but he had been foolish and filled with hope.

With Peter in the shower, Stiles took his chance to strip from his clothes and change into his pajamas. He folded his clothes and set them on one of the reading chairs in Peter’s room.

Much like the rest of the apartment, Peter’s bedroom was comfortable and homey but nicer than anywhere else Stiles had stayed in the past. He let himself walk around and inspect it while Peter was showering. It was probably considered rude, but Stiles couldn’t find it within himself to care. Peter knew what he was getting into, he knew that Stiles was a nosy little fuck so he could deal with it.

“Unless you want to deal with even more nightmares, I’d suggest you don’t open that.” Peter’s voice rang across the bedroom as Stiles ran his knuckles across a chest.

“What’s in it? Hearts of young, scorned lovers?”

“My sex toys.”

Stiles felt his face twist in disgust. “That’s another joke, right?”

Peter raised a brow at him as Stiles turned around to face him and he noticed that the werewolf was shirtless. “If you want to take a look and confirm that I’m not fucking around with you, be my guest.”

Words became hard for a moment as he stared for just a second too long at the still damp skin of Peter’s chest. “Uh— yeah, no. I’ll take your word for it.” He absolutely did not want to know what type of toys Peter fucked around with in the bedroom. Well, on some level he was curious because his mind was horrible and if he was presented with any sort of closed box he wanted to open and inspect it. But Peter’s dildos and fleshlights could stay locked in there and out of his brain.

Stiles forced himself to walk over to the bed before his hands opened the box without consulting his brain first. He knew he was bright red down to his chest and that Peter could probably smell his embarrassment but he didn’t let himself think about it too much. The guy probably got off on Stiles’ embarrassed reactions to the shit he did. But Peter didn’t say anything, he just laid down in his bed and moved the blankets for Stiles.

Stiles had plenty of sleepovers in the past with Scott where they both ended up sleeping in the same bed. He made himself picture those situations and not sharing a bed with Malia as he laid down at the far edge of Peter’s bed.

“I’m not going to steal your virtue,” Peter snorted and pulled Stiles closer to the middle of the bed. “What the fuck do you kids think of me?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Stiles asked, tensing as Peter enveloped Stiles body with his own. It was the same type of firm, comforting embrace that Malia would wrap around him whenever they ended up sleeping together.

_ Stop fucking thinking about your ex when you’re in the same bed as her dad, _ Stiles mentally berated himself.

Stiles shivered as Peter ran his nose along his neck. The rough burn of his stubble against the thin skin was almost as uncomfortable as the knowledge that he was going to absolutely reek of Peter the next morning, especially if he kept scenting him like that.

“Stop thinking so much and just relax,” Peter murmured into the crook of his neck. “You’ll sleep better like this than you would at the edge of my bed.”

“I’m really not sure about that.”

Peter lightly bit the muscle where his neck joined his shoulders and growled, “Shut up, Stiles.”

Despite himself, Stiles did shut up and surprisingly fast, he felt himself drifting off. The pressure of Peter’s arms against his chest was warm and solid and he could feel the werewolf’s even breaths start to slow down as he himself fell asleep. Stiles let himself fall asleep, relaxing in Peter’s arms.

When Stiles dreamed that night, he dreamt of a dark wolf with a graying muzzle. Its fur was soft and warm in his hands as the wolf led him through a dark forest at night. If there was any danger, it didn’t come close to them.

Stiles stroked the thick fur on the neck of the wolf in his dream and he felt safer than he had felt in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Chris give Peter a blow job to make him stop being such a dickhead? It's up to you... LOL  
\----  
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	6. Chapter 6

Stiles wondered if it was possible for werewolves to take mental pain away the same way they took away physical pain. It was the only explanation he had that made even a scrap of sense as Stiles got through the majority of the school day without anxiety clawing at his skin. 

“I’m going to not ask why you smell so much like Peter,” Malia slid into her seat behind him for last period. “And instead I’m going to ask if you wanted to help me study tonight.”

“I like the plan of not talking about it,” Stiles said. He felt strangely relieved that Malia wasn’t treating him like he had a third head or like he betrayed her. “And sure, dad’ll be home tonight so we can probably rope him into ordering pizza for us.”

Malia grinned and he could still see the half feral creature in it. It had been almost a year since Scott brought her back to human form yet Stiles could still feel her unease in furless skin. “I’m game for that.”

“Should we invite whoever’s assigned to spy on me tonight as well or let them freeze outside?” Stiles surprised himself with his laugh at that. It was surprisingly free of bitterness.

“You know it’s because Scott cares. But no, Liam can stay outside, it’ll be a da—“ Malia cut herself off.

“Yeah guess those won’t be happening anymore,” Stiles murmured to himself. He had royally fucked up his chances with one of the only girls that ever showed an interest in him thanks to his lie. Great.

“Listen, people break up all the time and can still be friends. I’m pretty sure sleeping with their ex’s dad isn’t the most common thing to ever happen, but we’re not the most normal people.” Malia lightly punched his shoulder. Lightly for her at least, if it had been from anyone else Stiles would have classified the force of the punch as fight starting. From Malia, it was playful.

“You know, things happen.” Stiles winced and rubbed at the spot where she punched. God, he wanted to tell her that he wasn’t actually sleeping with Peter. 

Well,  _ technically _ he and Peter slept together. It was just the type of sleeping together where they didn’t touch each other’s naked bodies or actually have sex. They literally slept together. That happened because Stiles was having nightmares about a gigantic evil horse and he, Peter, Chris, and Lydia were working together behind Scott’s back to kill the person who made the horse dark and evil. Oh! And Lydia was having dreams that people she loved were being killed by it.

Yeah, explaining that would be easy. It would go over so well that it made Stiles question why he wasn’t screaming it to the world.

“Can I catch a ride with you back to your place tonight then?” Malia asked, completely oblivious to the despair spiral Stiles was falling down. 

Stiles froze. His Jeep was still sitting in his driveway. “ _ Shit _ ,” he swore quietly. “Peter drove me in today. Fuck, my dad’s going to kill me.”

“Just lie and say Lydia picked you up.” Malia’s brows furrowed.

“I’m pretty sure Scott’s told him about the Peter thing and dad’s gonna be so pissed.” Stiles threw his head down onto his hands and groaned. “Malia I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Nah, you just think with your dick. I guess we won’t be getting pizza tonight though.” Another one of her painful-playful punches that knocked the breath out of Stiles’ lungs. “Just have Peter pick us up, he owes me at least that.”

Stiles winced, “Can we not?”

“Do you really want to explain to Allison or Scott why you’d need a ride home from either of them?” Malia cocked a brow.

“I could ask Lydia?” Stiles offered.

Malia shook her head as the teacher walked into the classroom. “She’s got plans tonight— I already asked her if she’d help me study earlier today and she had to turn me down.”

Stiles groaned into his hands. “We can just walk back to my place.”

Walking back to his place didn’t happen.

“You didn’t text him?” Stiles narrowed his eyes in accusation at Malia. Peter’s stupid fucking Mercedes was idling in front of the school.

“Why would I text him?” Malia met Stiles’ gaze and shrugged. “I don’t even have his number. He probably realized that you didn’t have your car.”

“Ugh,” Stiles grunted and scowled at the too dark windows of Peter’s car. “Can you just kill me? Like go coyote and go ham?”

“I think if I went coyote, going ham would be grooming you. I’ve been softened up too much by you nerds.” Malia grinned and nudged Stiles with her shoulder. Then, before Stiles could say anything to stop her, she started walking towards Peter’s car and stole the passenger's seat.

“ _ Malia _ ,” Stiles squawked and ran to the car. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hello to you too,” Peter rolled down the windows and looked much too smug. “Get in the car before you cause a scene.”

“Before I cause a scene?” If Stiles was a werewolf, claws would probably have been sprouting from his nails in his sheer annoyance. “Yes, because I’m the one showing up at the high school in a drug lord’s car.”

“Do you want to walk back to your place or are you going to get in? I suppose Malia and I could have time for some father-daughter bonding, but that was scheduled for next Saturday.”

“God I fucking hate you,” Stiles snarled and slid into the car. Any warm feelings he had about Peter from the previous night were so thoroughly squashed down at the moment that it was a wonder he had been feeling them at all.

The look Peter gave him through the rear view mirror told him that the werewolf knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

“Do you need me to drop you off at your house, Malia?” Peter smoothly ignored Stiles and started to drive out of the school. “Or would you like to spend some time with me at my apartment?”

“We’re going back to my place for studying,” Stiles answered flatly for Malia. “Your apartment isn’t the place for my high school study groups, remember?”

Malia looked between the two of them. “You know, when you told us that you were sleeping with Peter, I assumed that you’d like him more than this.”

Stiles felt his face flush— actually he was flushing down to his fucking chest. He couldn’t keep up the act any longer, not with both Malia and Peter in the car. “We’re not act—“

“He seemed pretty happy to see me last night,” Peter cut him off with a sharp look. It was a clear enough warning; don’t blow our cover. He dug his own grave and Peter was forcing him to lay in it.

God, when all of this was over, Stiles was going to borrow one of Chris’s guns and see how many bullets it took to kill a werewolf. 

He hoped the amount of bullets was more than ten and that it’d be a painful death. The amount of bullets he hoped it would take rose with each word Peter said to Malia, “I’m glad you’re able to take this all in stride, Malia. I know it must be weird for you.”

Stiles clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached to keep himself from blurting out the actual truth of what was happening. Even if Malia was one of the only ones in the pack that would understand their plan, Stiles knew he still needed to keep it a secret. It didn’t make not screaming  _ Peter and I are not fucking  _ to the heavens any easier, but there was at least a reason for it.

Malia looked from Peter to Stiles and back to Peter again. “Weirder things than this happened to me in the wild I guess is why.”

“Can we please not talk about this?” Stiles asked, glaring at the back of Peter’s head. “Literally any other topic would be fantastic.”

Peter’s eyes stayed on the road but Stiles could see how his eyebrows rose through the rear view mirror. “We all have to face the consequences of our actions.” He was enjoying this far too much. 

“I’m about to exit this moving car,” Stiles said flatly. The Peter from last night felt like a completely different person compared to the Peter driving the car. That Peter seemed to genuinely care about him whereas this Peter seemed more to care about getting a rise out of him.

“That would be a shame.” Peter’s eyes flicked towards him in the mirror. “Especially considering the plans I’ve been making for the weekend.”

“So how much do you know about calculus, Peter?” Malia asked, her attempt to change the subject came with about the same subtlety as a battering ram.

“Absolutely nothing,” Peter said with a charming smile. “I’ve purged all of those memories from my mind.”

“So helpful,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

“She’s got you to help her.” Peter turned onto Stiles’ street and slowed from reckless driving to a more reasonable ten above the speed limit. “My role this afternoon is to simply be the chauffeur.”

“Might end up being more than that,” Stiles said as they approached his house and he saw his dad’s car parked behind his Jeep. He didn’t need werewolf senses to know that his dad was in the house waiting for him to get home to start the lecture of a lifetime.

“Do you think me being here will help?” Malia asked slowly.

Stiles winced, “I doubt it but maybe dad will take pity on you.”

“Well, you two have fun, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” Peter stopped in front of Stiles’ house, not even bothering to put the car in park. He obviously didn’t want to stick around for the sheriff’s lecture.

Stiles’ lie was all fun for him until it came to Noah Stilinski. As much as Stiles wanted to call him a coward for it, he couldn’t blame Peter for not wanting to be target practice.

So he slid out of Peter’s car without a fight.

“So do you think that it’s too late to go to your place for studying?” Stiles asked Malia as Peter sped off. 

“You’ve done weirder things than sleep with a homicidal werewolf, I’m sure your dad will get over it quickly.” Malia paused and looked at Stiles, concern coloring her features. “Probably. If he doesn’t, I can probably coyote out and cause a bigger problem than you fucking my dad.”

Stiles laughed despite himself. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like you.”

“Yeah, well, just so you know if he gets too mad I will be saving my own hide first.” Malia butted him with her shoulder hard enough for him to nearly stumble over.

“It’s more than I expected,” Stiles grinned at her and rubbed his shoulder. “Couple months ago I think saving your own hide would have been your first answer.”

“It’s progress,” Malia grinned back, parroting what Stiles usually said about her. They paused in front of the front door. “And also we probably still could run if you wanted to.”

Stiles wrapped his hand around the doorknob and twisted. “Let’s just get this over with,” he said with a groan as he opened his front door. 

“I know you’re waiting for a lecture, dad. Can we get this over with?” Stiles called. “Also, Malia’s here, she needs some help studying for calc,” he added as an afterthought.

“Hey, Malia. Stiles, let’s talk.”

“Right, I’m going upstairs.” Malia scrambled up the stairs, leaving Stiles and Noah staring at each other. 

“He’s forty six, Stiles,” was the first thing Noah said to him. “That’s ten years past twice your age.”

“Would you believe me if I said we’re not actually fucking?” Stiles blurted out. He had meant to talk slowly and clearly, but he found himself speaking so fast that his words started to run into each other. “Like, this is so unbelievable that me sleeping with Peter sounds more likely. But I’m actually working with him and Chris behind Scott’s back to handle something and nobody in the pack but Lydia can know because it’s a whole fucking mess. When Scott asked me uncomfortable questions, sleeping with Peter was my first excuse and so now we’re here. And yeah I was at Peter’s last night but we weren’t fucking and I promise that I’m not feeling any warm and fuzzy feelings towards him. And Chris is involved and is making sure that Peter isn’t doing anything too nuts so you don’t have to worry.”

Noah stared at him and blinked slowly. “And why can’t Scott know about this.”

Stiles winced, “Can you trust me here without knowing all the details?”

The look Noah gave him was a clear enough no.

Stiles let out a hissing sigh and threw his hands up in the air. “You know the string of murders? With the ripped out hearts? Well the thing ripping out hearts and intestines is a corrupted unicorn and Peter, Chris, and I are going after the dude that cast the spell to corrupt it so it goes back to being a pearly white murder horse instead of a oil slick black murder horse.”

“A unicorn?” Noah’s brows furrowed. “You’re telling me all of this was done by a  _ unicorn _ ?”

Stiles almost laughed. “I had the same reaction, dad. But I saw it as it—“ he broke off and swallowed hard. “I saw it and it’s terrifying, bigger than a truck and its horn is like a damn scythe made for ripping open rib cages.”

“Does Malia know?”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t think it’d be an issue if she knew but I want to keep her out of it. I don’t trust Peter and I’m trying to keep as many people out of his sphere of influence as possible.”

Noah grunted. “I don’t like this.”

“I have Chris involved to help with Peter’s bullshit, dad, I’ll be fine.” He didn’t add that both Chris and himself felt like they were in over their heads. His goal wasn’t to get his dad involved, it was to ease his concerns.

“I’m going to call Chris and if he doesn’t corroborate your story, you’re going to be grounded for a month,” Noah said, worry lines deep beneath his eyes. Stiles’ stomach twisted at the thought that he was making his dad scared about him.

“Well, when he does corroborate it, do you want to order some pizza? Malia and I seriously are gonna be studying tonight.”

“Is this bribery to try and stop me from being pissed at you?”

“Would it work?” Stiles asked with a sickly sweet grin.

“Go and help Malia study you little delinquent,” Noah said with a laugh. “But I’m serious, if Chris’s story doesn’t match up with yours, you’re dead kid.”

——

“You ever shoot a gun before?” Peter ran his knuckles along the barrel of an assault rifle that was laid out on Chris’s desk. Peter had summoned both Stiles and Chris to Chris’s apartment several days after Stiles told his dad the truth about what was going on. “I’ve never, they’re so violent.” There was a sneer in his voice, his distaste for the weapons obvious. 

“Coming from the man who claws out people’s throats,” Stiles retorted dryly.

“Where do you think the brutality in werewolves comes from, Stiles? The man or the wolf?” Peter tapped his fingers on the barrel of the gun once, twice, and a third time before turning around to face Chris and Stiles.

“Is there a reason you wanted us to meet here today, Peter?” Chris asked. “And I’d appreciate if you didn’t touch that, it’s worth several thousand dollars.”

Peter ignored him. “Hunters seem to think that werewolves are more animal than human. But do wolves kill for the thrill of it? Do they let bodies rot and become food for crows and worms? It’s not the wolf side of us that turns us brutal and cruel, it’s entirely the human side.” He paused and examined his nails. Stiles couldn’t stop the way his eyes rolled so far back into his head that he felt like they’d pop out of his skull. Peter continued, “Weapons show the cruelty of humanity.”

“I appreciate the ethics lesson, but get to the point.”

“Patience, Christopher, I’m getting to the point” Peter said with a sharp grin. His eyes flashed wolf blue in the dim light and he took a step forward. “Our caster is a particularly cruel man, the humanity inside of him searching for unique ways to hurt others.”

“The unicorn is the only one of his experiments still alive. This morning he had it kill the other creatures he had captive. Some were on death's door, failed polarity swaps. Others were untouched aside from being drugged enough to stop them from fighting as the unicorn tore them to shreds.”

Peter’s teeth flashed, sharp canines growing as his control slipped in his anger. “Three werewolves were killed. Their remains were strung up on trees for me to find.”

Stiles’ heart sank in his chest. “How much of a danger is this to the pack now?” He asked, fighting to keep his voice even.

“Enough of a danger for me to want to start moving onto him now.” Peter’s voice was coldly even, as icy as his eyes. Despite that, Stiles could see his fists shaking in rage. “I’m going to tear his flesh from his bones while he’s still breathing.”

“Did you recognize the wolves?” Chris asked, ever practical, ever compartmentalizing horrifying information. 

Peter shook his head, a quick, jerking movement. “Their scents were muddled and they were too torn up for me to recognize any features.”

“I want body armor for you and Stiles. It won’t help much, but it gives you a fighting chance.” Peter relaxed his fists and blood trickled down his fingers. His eyes still glowed as he stared at Stiles and Chris. “Stiles should carry mountain ash to use as a last resort. Christopher I assume that you have yellow wolfsbane bullets.”

“I have a few.”

“I doubt they’ll kill a unicorn but they might slow it down long enough for me to have a chance at killing the caster,” Peter said with a nod. 

“Hold on— are we doing this tonight?” Stiles asked.

“No, I’ve just gathered both of you together for a fun Friday get together. I was planning on seeing a movie and getting dinner while the caster slaughters more supernaturals,” Peter said sharply. He looked more unstable than he had ever looked before he was killed for the first time.

“You need to take a moment to calm down, Peter,” Chris said quietly. He must have picked up on the same crazed energy that Stiles had noticed. Not like it was hard to. “If we’re doing this, we need to be in the right mind and prepared.”

Peter’s jaw worked like he was considering a nasty retort. Instead he just flopped down on one of Chris’s chairs and folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Fine, but we’re doing this tonight.”

All of the different faces of Peter that Stiles had seen flashed in his mind. The batshit murderous alpha, helpful Uncle Peter, the cold and calculating man who made deals weighed heavily in his favor, the man with firm but gentle touches and interested words, the self serving bastard who’d kill anyone as long as he’d benefit from it, and now this man who was so furious over the deaths of werewolves he didn’t even know that he was shaking in rage. None of the faces came together in an easy way and Stiles never knew which face was the actual Peter.

As he watched Peter’s tense form, he wondered if the true Peter was some mix of all of them.

Chris placed a hand on Stiles shoulder and led him out of the room. “Let’s get you fitted for some gear.”

“Have you ever seen him that shaken up before?” Stiles asked in a low voice.

“I’m guessing that he wasn’t planning on the caster to start slaughtering werewolves,” Chris replied and turned into a room a few doors down from his office. The walls were lined with guns and other weapons. “He is right, though. We need to get you fitted into some tactical gear.”

“He’s careful until he’s not,” Stiles said quietly, remembering the conversation he had with Chris a week ago. “You think this is the start of him slipping?”

“Take off your shirt and hoodie.” Chris held up a dark shirt and looked at him. “And it could be, this is a major wrench in his plans.”

Stiles couldn’t help the way he flushed as he stripped from his layers. He didn’t usually take off his clothes in front of anyone who wasn’t Malia and even then he felt self conscious about it. In a world of supernaturally shredded people, he was the lanky beanpole.

Chris appraised him and swapped out the shirt he was holding for another one. “Put this on.”

Stiles obeyed, the shirt was tighter than he usually wore and he opened his mouth to complain, but Chris’s approving nod shut him up before he even started. So instead he asked, “What all am I gonna need to wear?”

Chris opened a drawer and started flipping through folded clothes. “Nothing’s gonna stop that horn from ripping through us but some tac gear will at least prevent some injuries.” He tossed a heavy button up towards Stiles. “Try this on.”

“God, I feel like I’m a little kid wearing his dad’s clothes right now,” Stiles laughed as he put on the shirt. It looked like it crawled right out of Chris’s wardrobe. Honestly, Chris probably had one hundred shirts just like it.

“You look like you’re wearing clothes that actually fit you for the first time actually,” Chris said.

Stiles plucked at the button up. “Yeah, I don’t like it, I prefer wearing bigger clothes.”

A grin pulled at the corners of Chris’s lips as he tossed Stiles a heavy vest. “Here’s your layers, kid.”

Stiles grunted as he caught the weighty vest. “Jesus, what’s in this?”

“It’s level four body armor, strongest you can get.” Chris slid on a vest of his own and tapped it. “Heavy as hell but it’ll stop even bullets from an AR-15.”

“But not an evil unicorn horn.”

“Unfortunately they don’t make body armor for that,” Chris said and huffed out a low laugh. “I can say it stops most werewolf claws at the very least.”

“So this is Peter protection.”

“You said it, not me.” Chris threw a jacket to him. It matched the same one that Chris was sliding on. “We don’t know much about what we’re walking into so I want to be prepared for as many threats as possible.”

“So am I gonna get a gun then?” Stiles asked.

Chris had the audacity to laugh at him. “No way in hell am I giving you a gun, Stiles. I don’t need you to accidentally test what caliber of bullets the vest can handle.”

“I feel incredibly offended right now.”

Chris laughed again and tossed him a baton.

“Okay, now I’m less offended.” Stiles extended the baton and pressed the button to let it charge with electricity. He grinned widely, “These things are fucking sick when they’re not being used against you.” He gave it a few test swings, doing his best Jedi impression.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Chris said and raised an eyebrow. “Because if you knock yourself out with it playing Obi-Wan I will leave you here.”

Stiles frowned and turned off the baton. “You’re no fun.”

“Being alive is more fun than being dead and I’m here to keep you alive.” Chris opened up one of the steel cages and grabbed two pistols from it. He grabbed magazines from behind another cage.

“How responsible of you.” Stiles walked over to him and inspected the guns. “Aren’t you gonna take anything bigger?”

“I’ll take the rifle that’s on my desk, but the pistols should be enough.” He slid the magazines into the pistols and put them into holsters hidden under his jacket. He put a few extra magazines in the pockets of his jacket. “Ideally, we’ll take out the caster without the need for much cover fire.”

Stiles snorted loudly. “Yeah, fat chance at that. We’ll be lucky if we all come out of this alive.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Chris said with a shrug. “I have a knack for narrowly surviving things that should kill me.”

“Like a sociopathic werewolf, an evil unicorn, and an insane caster?”

“Mm, we’ll see about that.” Chris clapped Stiles’ shoulder this side of too hard. “Let’s go see if Peter’s calmed down enough to get moving.”

Peter was calm insofar that his eyes were back to their usual icy blue and his nails weren’t razor sharp. There was still a nervous energy about him but it was more contained. 

“How much longer until the unicorn reaches full potential, Peter?” Chris asked as he walked into the office, making a beeline to his desk. 

“Not much, after its feast of supernaturals I’d assume that its horn will poison any living creature it touches. It will kill trees and bring a man to his knees with just a tap of the horn. If we don’t move now, I’d say we have about a week until it’s able to poison the watersheds here.” Peter stood up and stalked over to Chris. “So we need to get going now.”

“Is there anything you’re not telling us, Peter?” Chris stopped and fixed Peter with a hard look. “Does this caster have any more werewolves under his control? Werewolves that you said didn’t exist a week ago?”

“I said the caster didn’t have an alpha under his command. I never said that he didn’t have betas.” Peter met Chris’s gaze. “The werewolves under his command are dead, Christopher. Just like the rest of this state will be if we don’t start moving out.”

Chris grabbed the AR-15 from his desk and slung it over his shoulder. “Where am I taking us?”

——

“When I think of evil lairs, I don’t usually think of lakeside cabins.” Stiles watched as they drove past a picturesque view of the sun setting over a lake and a cabin that probably cost more than his dad made in a decade. “Where’s the doom and gloom?”

“If you want to wait a week, I’m sure this will be much less beautiful and much more poisoned and dead,” Peter said dryly. He looked over his shoulder at Stiles. “Lakeside cabins are perfect if you’d like to test out your new pollution spreading monster.”

“Not to mention all of these are abandoned at this time of the year,” Chris added. “Nobody’s around to see your horrifying monstrosity coming and going.”

“I’d be surprised if the caster actually owned his cabin,” Peter said and then added, “Turn left here.”

Chris turned onto a smaller road that went from asphalt to gravel. “How far out are we?” 

“We’ll be on this road for a mile. The corpses are about half a mile into the property and the house is about a mile and some change past them.”

“I know you told Malia you purged math from your mind, but half a mile plus a mile equals more than one mile.” Stiles frowned at Peter.

“We’re walking, I don’t want the sound of the engine to alert anything and have the caster ready to spring any traps on us.” Peter paused thoughtfully. “Well, more than he has ready for us anyway.”

“What do you think we should be expecting?” Chris asked.

Peter grinned, “A two ton horse with a horn that will poison you if it barely touches you.”

“Yeah, not much need for anything beyond that, is there?”

“Well there’s also the caster who’s powerful in his own right.” Peter paused as they drove past the first of the mangled bodies. It hung in shreds in the limbs of a tree. Stiles wouldn’t have recognized it as a humanoid had Peter not mentioned it earlier. He looked towards Peter and noticed the way his jaw clenched and his eyes were locked in the corpse.

“There’s going to be hell to pay for this,” he whispered the threat, eyes flashing a glowing blue. “The caster is going to suffer.”

Stiles swallowed hard and felt his heart leap into his throat. Seeing Peter like this was terrifying, the unhinged anger that was usually so well hidden coming to the surface was enough to make anyone nervous. He was just glad Peter was on their side for the moment.

The car was silent until Peter told Chris to pull off the road and stop. “From here we walk.”

Peter was the first out of the SUV and Stiles could see that he was in full beta shift. It was an unnerving sight; the deep lines and his shadowed eyes made him look more monstrous than most werewolves. He looked like a wild beast a moment from snapping.

Stiles drummed his fingers along the electric baton Chris had given him. He felt very unprepared and in way over his head. But he was too far involved to back out.

“Peter, you scout ahead. Stiles, put these on.” Chris handed him a night vision headset, one that matched the one that he was placing on his own head. “We’re taking no chances here. This is a hunt I’d like to have an entire team on but we just have the three of us and the prophetic visions of a banshee who saw someone being impaled by the unicorn.”

Peter rolled his head and flexed his shoulders. “I can promise you that this is a hunt you want a smaller group on.” His voice was distorted, warped by the massive fangs in his mouth. He accepted the earpiece that Chris handed him with a nod.

“Tell us if you see anything.” Chris inserted a matching earpiece into his own ear before handing another one to Stiles. 

“Happy hunting,” Peter said in a low purr before slinking off into the shadows trees. 

“Keep your grip on the baton firm and stay behind me,” Chris said to Stiles. He didn’t look like the comforting Chris that Stiles had come to rely on. He looked like a villain in a FPS or something with the gun strapped to his back, his layers of clothing, and the night vision headset. It was unnerving to Stiles knowing that he looked just like him, except maybe a lesser enemy since he had a baton and no gun. 

Stiles blinked, trying to clear his thoughts, as he followed behind Chris. He didn’t need his head up in the clouds when he was in a situation where he could very easily be killed with one wrong move. 

The way Chris moved so easily and silently through the underbrush spoke to his decades of training. The Chris that he was following wasn’t Chris Argent the devoted — if overprotective — dad, he was Chris Argent the man trained since childhood to hunt the hunters. Stiles wasn’t nearly as elegant and silent as he followed behind Chris, but he tried to match his steps and movements. 

The shadows in the forest unnerved him. They lengthened as the sun set lower and lower on the horizon. The night vision headset cut through them but it didn’t stop Stiles from thinking of all the things that could be hiding in them.

“It’s so silent,” Stiles whispered quietly. There were no birds singing and it felt like the only noises came from his footsteps through the undergrowth and the wind whipping through trees.

“Animals are better at listening to their instincts and fleeing from danger than humans are,” Chris replied in an equally quiet voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all of the wildlife here is giving the cabin an incredibly wide berth.”

“Meanwhile the humans — and werewolf — are walking right into the lion’s den.” The uneasy feeling in Stiles’ chest grew tighter.

“Less of a lion’s den and more of the rat infested home of a plague victim.” Peter’s distorted voice played over the earpiece. “There’s a sickness in these woods, the smell is horrific. It’s the same sickly sweetness as rot.”

Stiles couldn’t smell it, not with his human nose, but he knew Peter was telling the truth.

“We’ll need to kill the caster as fast as possible, if the poison is spreading throughout the forest I’m worried about what being in the same room as the unicorn will do to us.” Chris paused as they approached a clearing. At the edge of the clearing, Stiles could see a large cabin. A single car sat on the road leading up to it and the setting sun lit the lake on fire behind the cabin.

“He’s home.” Peter silently met up with them and jerked his chin at the car. “Do you sense any wards, Stiles?”

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, to feel anything unusual. All he could feel was an overwhelming feeling of dread. “If he has any set up, the unicorn’s drowning them out. It has this feeling of corruption that’s permeating everything.”

Peter nodded, “All I can smell is rot. He could have an army of the undead for all I know.”

“My sensors aren’t picking up anything that we’re not expecting,” Chris said.

“It’s too—“

“Stiles, if you say it’s too easy I’ll rip your tongue from your mouth,” Peter said. “Nothing good ever follows those words.”

Stiles glared at Peter, something made ineffective by the headset that covered his face. “Then let’s get moving into the multi million dollar cabin housing an insane spellcaster and his pet evil unicorn.”

“Dark unicorn,” Peter corrected.

“Both of you shut up.” Chris started forward, hands firm on his pistol. 

Stiles hated following him into the open space, but he forced himself to start walking behind Chris. The shadows in the trees were unnerving but they at least provided some cover. There was no cover to be found in the open ground between the forest and the cabin.

The only relief he could feel as they slowly crossed the clearing was that Lydia’s nightmares all took place in a dark room with a window, not a clearing with perfectly manicured grass. 

They all came to a stop at the door and Stiles held his breath.

“Are you ready?” Chris asked, hand reaching for the doorknob. When both Peter and Stiles nodded, he slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open on well oiled hinges.

The lights in the cabin were off, the only lighting coming from the setting sun through uncovered windows. Stiles let out the breath he held as he saw nobody in the entryway.

“Stay together,” Chris said quietly, voice the barest whisper. 

If Stiles’ hand holding the baton was shaking, nobody said anything. They just slowly cleared each room in the cabin. The rooms looked used, there was even a half empty glass of water on the table in the dining room and it smelled vaguely of cooked meat. But there was nobody.

The office was just as empty as the dining room, there was a laptop charger but no laptop. The caster knew they were coming, Stiles felt it in his guts. 

There was a bedroom that they checked out nest and the sight made Stiles’ stomach roll. The sheets were torn, the headboard scratched with deep gouges. Blood painted everything a deep crimson.

He didn’t breathe again until they exited the room. Even then, he felt like every inhale tasted and smelt like salty copper.

Finally they made it to the living room. It was stripped free of furniture aside from a single chair. The setting sun lit the room brilliantly with the large windows that covered the entire wall and thanks to that, it took him a moment to realize that there was a figure sitting in the chair. 

The low growl that came from Peter was what really alerted him. Stiles flicked the power of the baton on and felt strangely comforted by the crackle of electricity as the figure stood up.

He was a man with blonde hair so light it seemed almost white. “I was wondering when you would find me.” His voice was melodic and his pale eyes were narrowed. “Was it you I felt searching for me?” He tilted his head and looked at Chris. Then he paused and laughed. “No, of course not. You don’t have even a semblance of the gift, do you?”

“Where is the horse?” Chris asked, gun pointed at the man.

“Don’t worry, she’s around.” The man laughed again and it made Stiles feel sick. He seemed so casual and nonchalant. Something wasn’t right.

“You were the one who cast the spell, aren’t you?” In a split second the man was in front of Stiles and tilted his chin up with a single finger. “So much power for a boy so young.”

Stiles tried to ram the man’s side with the baton, but before he could get it close his arm was caught in a bone crushing grip. He screamed as the bones in his forearm snapped under the pressure.

“Careful, boy.” His tone was still as disgustingly even and casual as before but Stiles could see the dangerous look in his narrowed eyes. “Nobody likes rude house guests.”

“Put him down,” Chris and Peter snarled at the same time.

The man’s eyes flashed icy blue, glowing in the dim room.  _ He’s a werewolf _ , Stiles realized, everything Peter had said finally slotting together. That was why mountain ash wouldn’t have worked for him and why Peter wasn’t sure how he gained control over the unicorn.

The blue eyes were some small form of comfort, at least. 

The comfort was short lived as the windows shattered behind them as the unicorn barreled into the cabin and the werewolf started to shift. Fear, true fear twisted Stiles’ insides as features shifted and distorted into a truly bestial shape.

An alpha shift.

The caster had corrupted a unicorn from light to dark. He had also changed his own nature from dark to light. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Stiles swore as the alpha wrapped his jaws around his throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah turns out they weren't prepared enough and Peter wasn't telling them the whole truth. He technically wasn't lying, the caster didn't have an alpha under his control. He just, you know, was an alpha.  
\----  
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	7. Chapter 7

Stiles screamed in pain as sharp teeth cut into the thin skin of his throat.  _ This is how I’m going to die _ , was all he could think. He was utterly paralyzed, scared that a single movement would result in his blood painting the tile floor crimson just like the bedroom.

The sound of gunfire and a loud snarl brought him out of his paralyzed state and back to his body. The crushing pressure was released from his throat and he saw a mass of black fur slam against the alpha. 

Peter had fully shifted.

He was massive, bigger than any wolf Stiles had ever seen before. If he had stood up on two legs he probably would have been as tall as the monstrous alpha he was matched in a snarling battle with. Stark white teeth were bared as Peter growled low in his throat, hackles raised. 

With the caster distracted by Peter, Stiles took a shaky step backwards, then another, and another until he was at the very edge of the room. His throat felt cold and tacky with blood and his shirt was wet with blood. He ran a hand along his throat and winced as he felt the deep indents of teeth. It didn’t hurt but he knew that was the shock and adrenaline speaking.

The loud crack of a gun firing made Stiles whip his head towards Chris. The unicorn was baring down on him, shrugging off bullets like they were airsoft pellets. It really was too big for the room, it had little room to maneuver. That seemed to be the only advantage Chris had.

“I am going to fucking murder you after this, Peter,” Chris screamed over the snarling roars of the wolves, the whinnies of the corrupted unicorn, and his own gunfire. Stiles was inclined to agree with him. 

The last bullet in Chris’s pistol’s magazine pinged off of the unicorn’s horn, breaking through its horn and shattering off a few inches of its length. Stiles made a small whoop in celebration while Chris tossed the gun away, replacing it with his AR-15. 

The rounds he fired off seemed slightly more effective than the pistol rounds, but it still seemed hopeless as the unicorn reared up and lashed out with its sharp hooves. They hit the drywall and sent clouds of plaster dust into the air.

Their only hope was Peter winning the fight with the alpha. 

Stiles tore his eyes away from Chris and focused on Peter. It was odd watching him and the caster circle each other. It wasn’t like the usual fights he had seen between werewolves. It was slower, more cautious like they were testing each other before making a move. The pace of their fight was completely different from Chris’s frantic battle with the unicorn.

The caster lunged at Peter, snapping massive jaws a fraction of an inch away from the thick fur on the back of his neck. He must have misjudged the distance between him and Peter, unused to fighting with an enemy on four legs instead of two, Stiles supposed. 

Peter rammed the alpha’s stomach with his massive head and took a bite out of the meat of his leg. The caster roared in pain and swiped at Peter, sending him flying across the room.

Peter let out a snarl as he stood up on shaky legs and the caster matched it, massive teeth bared. His eyes flickered between Peter and Stiles, the color of which were more icy than Peter’s or Derek’s were, it should have been something that Stiles had noticed. But hell, even if he had noticed it before the caster had attacked him, there was no way he would have been able to react in time. 

The caster bolted forward, ignoring Peter and going straight for Stiles. Stiles held up the baton, letting the electricity crackle through it at full power, but he felt despair course through him. It wasn’t like he could beat a deranged spellcasting alpha werewolf.

Just as Stiles was about to screw his eyes shut, Peter slammed into the caster’s side. Blood gushed through the slashes in his side but Peter seemed to ignore it as he locked his jaws around the caster’s upper arm and shook his head.

The caster let out a screeching roar of agony as muscle shredded beneath sharp teeth. He slammed a clawed hand against Peter’s head to no effect. Peter was locked on to his arm like an attack dog and his front paws scratched deep gouges into the caster’s side.

White fur was crimson by the time Peter let go of the caster’s arm and snapped at his ankle. The caster’s right arm hung uselessly by his side, muscles ripped down to the bone. He staggered and growled deep in his chest.

Despite his ruined limb, the caster lunged at Peter and dug his good arm into Peter’s ribs, claws puncturing deep into his chest. 

The caster roared in triumph as Peter collapsed to the ground and fur melted back into skin while limbs twisted back into human form. Blood gushed from the puncture wounds and his breath came out in wheezing gasps.

“Did you really think you could beat me?” The caster shifted back into his beta form as he kicked Peter’s side. The sound of ribs snapping rang out loudly. The alpha then grabbed Peter off of the floor by his throat and tossed him across the room.

“You’re  _ nothing _ ,” he snarled. There was no trace of the soft, melodic voice from earlier. He sounded half crazed and bestial. His right arm still hung limp by his side but the gashes in his side were already healing, flesh knitting itself back together. 

Stiles looked over at Chris, praying that he’d be able to do something. But Chris was losing his fight as well, narrowly dodging swings of the unicorn’s horn. There was no way that Chris would have been able to turn his attention away from the deadly horse and do anything to combat the alpha.

Peter tried to push himself up, but he collapsed and the caster stepped on his left hand, crushing it against the ground and fracturing the delicate bones. “Did you think you could kill me and get my spark?” He lifted his foot and brought it down in a hard stomp, drawing out a yowl of pain from Peter. “You should be rotting like the rest of your family.”

With Peter getting his ass handed to him and Chris caught up trying not to get killed by the unicorn, Stiles knew that he had to do something. His neck was still bleeding heavily and he felt faint and shaky, but if he could at least do something they might have a chance. 

Stiles tightened his grip on his baton and stood up. The world spun around him and nausea rolled in his guts but he took a step forward, then another, and then another. He kept his gaze locked on the caster who was too busy breaking the bones in Peter’s hand to notice Stiles as he came up behind him.

Stiles jammed the baton in the small of the caster’s back. The werewolf tensed as a damn near lethal amount of electricity coursed through his system. The smell of burning flesh was strong and only grew stronger the longer Stiles kept the baton pressed against skin. 

The caster turned around and swiped at him, sharp claws cut through the skin on his face but there was no real force in the swipe. The electricity had weakened him and Stiles swung the baton, slamming it against his shredded arm.

It was the caster’s turn to scream in pain. His muscles convulsed as the electricity cooked shredded flesh. 

Peter stood up, wheezing harshly and left arm bent in the wrong direction. He had a look of pure fury on his face. All of the anger and rage that Stiles knew was constantly hiding behind a mask of smug indifference was finally free.

Peter roared, loud enough for Stiles’ ears to ring in pain. His fangs were out, more massive than any other beta’s fangs and Stiles felt some primal fear bubble up. Peter was dangerous, a predator.

And then he shoved his good arm under the caster’s rib cage. The sound was horrible, the ripping of flesh and cracking of bone as Peter tore open the other man’s chest. Stiles wanted to vomit, the smell and the sight of fractured bone and still pulsing organs too much for even his human senses.

“How poetic this is for you.” Peter wrapped a clawed hand around the caster’s beating heart and ripped it from his chest. 

The caster slumped to the ground, lifeless and Peter turned his gaze towards Stiles. The glow of his eyes intensified to the same icy blue as the caster’s as torn flesh and broken bones healed. Peter smiled wildly, the white of his teeth even more striking with the way his skin was painted crimson by the caster’s blood.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Peter said with a purr. He dropped the heart to the ground and wiped his hands on his naked thighs. He turned his gaze from Stiles to where Chris was still fighting with the unicorn.

It didn’t seem to get the memo that the caster was dead. Its fur was still the same oily black color and it showed no signs of wanting to stop trying to commit murder.

Peter rolled his neck before he shifted into his alpha form. It was different than what it had been after the coma. It seemed less monstrous, more of a true mesh between his wolf and his human body rather than what it had been before. Likely due to Peter being relatively more sane than he had been before. He couldn’t call him entirely right in the head, but he was better than before. 

Peter snarled and charged the unicorn, barreling into its side and knocking it off balance. 

“Why is it not changing?” Chris yelled. “I thought it was supposed to start changing back?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles yelled back. Could ownership of the spell have transferred when Peter had taken the caster’s spark? His eyes hadn’t turned the standard alpha red which meant that however the polarity swap worked, it stayed despite the death of the caster. 

The unicorn swung its head wildly and Chris leapt back just in time to avoid the jagged horn that threatened to sweep him off his feet. Even with the bullet holes that riddled its pelt and Peter gouging deep claw marks down its flank, the unicorn didn’t seem to be slowed down.

“We need to get out of here,” Stiles called as the unicorn reared up and kicked with its front hooves. If they could get some distance between them and it, maybe they could fight it better.

A chunk of plaster went flying and hit Chris in the chest as the unicorn’s flailing hooves knocked it free. Chris staggered back with a grunt and dropped his gun.

Peter raked his claws across the unicorn’s soft belly and black, tar-like blood dripped down, catching the fading light. This caused the unicorn to let out a whinny of pain and it kicked its back legs out, trying to get at Peter.

Stiles racked his mind, trying to think of a way to undo the spell. Every magic that was done could be undone, that was a fundamental truth of the world. The death of the caster  _ should  _ have been enough to undo the spell but with magic that complex, there might have been a backup plan.

“Chris, Peter, keep it busy. I have an idea.” Stiles gave the two men one last glance before he staggered out of the room on unsteady feet. The adrenaline was still coursing through his system but he was starting to feel the bite. He forced himself to ignore the pain as he made his way back through the cabin.

The smell of rot made it easy to find the bedroom they had been in earlier. He felt queasy just thinking about going back in that blood covered room, but he was already soaked in blood — both his and the caster’s — so he forced any revulsion back. If there was a room where he could find a way to undo dark magic, it would probably be in the room where it looked like a bunch of satanists had an orgy.

God, it was even worse in the dark. Stiles gagged as he stepped on something squishy. It was probably just some pillow that was saturated with blood but he didn’t want to look down and confirm. 

“If I were a crazy werewolf spellcaster what would I use as my backup plan,” Stiles murmured to himself as he pulled out a dresser drawer and inspected its content. There was nothing but neatly folded shirts in there. The other drawers were much of the same.

“Come  _ on _ ,” he groaned. Yeah, it would have been nuts if he found what he was looking for in the first place he looked but he really needed the universe to throw him a bone.

He winced as he put his chest to the blood soaked carpet to run a hand along the bottom of the dresser. Of course there wasn’t a hidden note on how to revert the polarity swap underneath there, he just wanted to be thorough. While he was on the ground, he also looked under the bed.

There was no rotting corpse underneath the bed but there was also no sign of any spell breaking item.

A loud cracking noise made Stiles jump. It was just another reminder that if he couldn’t figure out how to break the spell he, Chris, and Peter were all going to be unicorn food and the entire west coast was going to become a poisoned, uninhabitable hellscape. No pressure.

He stood up and ripped the covers off of the bed, revealing… nothing but surprisingly non-blood soaked sheets. He ripped those off and then tossed the mattress off the bed for good measure. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Stiles screamed in frustration. He had torn apart half of the bedroom and had nothing to show for it. He slammed a fist against the bed’s backboard and yelped as splinters of the gouged wood got caught in the skin of his hand.

Stiles plucked them out, swearing loudly as he did so, and then he froze.

The gouges in the headboard weren’t a random shape, clawed out by a desperate werewolf trying not to be slaughtered. They were purposeful, probably the anchoring runes for the spell. If he could ruin them, the spell wouldn’t be able to stay up. It would collapse without the anchor or its caster to keep it alive.

Stiles chewed on his lower lip as he looked around the room, trying to find something he could use to carve into the wood with. If he was any stronger, he could have probably just drop kicked the wood to break the backboard in half. But alas, he wasn’t Scott, especially with the way his already low strength was sapped by his dropping adrenaline and pain from the bite around his neck. 

The one thing he had was intelligence and problem solving skills. That and a baton with enough electricity to power a small car. 

“Here goes nothing,” Stiles muttered to himself and turned his baton on to full blast and brought it to the headboard. At first, nothing happened but then slowly the wood started smoking. The smoke turned to small embers and a noxious smell that almost rivaled the smell of blood and rot. 

After a few moments, the wood lit on fire and Stiles whooped in victory. He stayed for long enough to make sure that the fire would spread, and then he started to head back to the living room. They needed to get out of there before the entire cabin burnt to the ground.

Cool, he could add arson to the list of various crimes he had committed in an attempt to stop the world from ending.

“Chris, Peter, we  _ really _ need to get going,” Stiles yelled as he scrambled through the cabin. He nearly tripped over an uneven floorboard as he turned the corner into the living room too fast. 

“I might have set the anchoring spell on fire to break it. So basically what I’m saying is this place is gonna go up in flames soon and I don’t really want to be burnt to a crisp.” Stiles paused. “Shit, that’s probably pretty insensitive. But really, Peter, we need to be anywhere but here.”

Stiles look up and froze. Chris was on the ground clutching his side and Peter was standing between him and the unicorn, teeth bared in a furious snarl. 

He ran to Chris’s side and swore loudly, his shirt was ripped and the body armor had a chunk missing from it. Blood flowed from the hole in his side and black veins radiated from around the inflamed, torn flesh. 

“How long is it gonna take for it to turn back?” Chris groaned, his voice was even more rough and hoarse than usual. He looked at Stiles with glassy eyes. “It got me a few minutes ago.

Stiles swallowed hard and stared at the massive beast in front of them. “I— I don’t know,” he said quietly. The backboard was probably entirely engulfed in flames but the spell needed time to collapse. This was also entirely dependent on the carvings on it also being the anchor for the spell.

Peter roared the terrifying roar of an alpha and latched his massive jaws around the front leg of the unicorn. Long claws gouged into muscle and the unicorn flailed wildly, unsuccessfully trying to knock Peter off. 

He stayed latched on and shook his head, rending flesh like he had done earlier with the caster. The blood that flowed from the wound wasn’t the same tar-like, black blood that had flowed earlier when Peter clawed at its belly, however. It was a healthier red.

“It’s working, I think.” Stiles couldn’t help the relief in his voice as he grabbed Chris’s hand and squeezed. “The blood— it’s changing back to what it should probably be.”

Chris just groaned in response. His eyes were glassy and he looked feverish. Peter’s words from earlier ran through his mind, the warning of even getting touched by the horn meant getting poisoned. He didn’t know how much worse the effects would be if someone had gotten stabbed by it. 

The smell of smoke grew stronger as the fire spread. Peter released his grip on the unicorn and backed off. It shook its head and flailed its front legs, clipping the Peter on the back.

That seemed to hardly slow him down as he scooped up Chris in one massive, furred arm and Stiles in the other. When Stiles looked at him, mouth open to ask what he was down, he just snarled quietly.

Peter barreled through the cabin, gait awkward on two legs, and the unicorn followed closely behind. He was headed towards the back, away from the fire.

“Chris is in really bad shape,” Stiles said, as if Peter couldn’t figure it out on his own. He thought of Derek after he had been shot, how they had to burn the wolfsbane to ashes and then rub that into the wound. Or how Derek had once taken a flame to Peter to burn out wolfsbane after a failed assassination attempt. He wondered if they’d have to do the same to Chris’s wound.

Peter barely slowed as he ran through the back door of the cabin. Glass shattered around them, reflecting the fading light like diamonds, as he rammed it with his shoulder. Stiles had to screw his eyes shut to make sure he didn’t get blinded.

Peter bolted to the edge of the edge of the lake and set Stiles and Chris down gently before he turned around to face the unicorn that was charging towards them. He let out a massive roar, loud enough that the water rippled behind him.

The unicorn stop and reared up, matching Peter’s roar with a loud whinny. Pearlescent white fur was starting to slowly replace the dark fur, but it wasn’t happening fast enough for Stiles’ taste.

The unicorn charged again and Peter narrowly missed being impaled on its horn. He ran his claws down the beast’s flank as it barreled past him, causing it to stumble when he got deep enough into the muscle.

Blood flowed freely, staining fur red. The unicorn turned around and shook its head angrily. It made a furious whinny, stomping its hooves. Peter snarled back at it, causing the monster to take a few steps back. It looked back at Chris and Stiles, but at Peter’s snarl it stopped.

And then it started to run away, unwilling to face the furious Peter whose eyes were starting to turn from the bizarre icy blue back to the standard red of an alpha.

As it ran, Peter moved towards Chris. Dark fur melted back into smooth skin and he touched Chris almost gently.

“If I don’t bite him, he’ll be dead within minutes,” Peter said, voice still distorted by his fangs. He pulled the pale, feverish Chris onto his lap and ran the backs of a few fingers down his cheek. “This isn’t how I planned this.”

Stiles’ eyes twitched. “Really?” He snarled as Peter sank his fangs into Chris’s wrist. “You didn’t plan for us to get our goddamned asses handed to us by an alpha werewolf and his gigantic monster that you were wrong about? How exactly did you plan for this to go, Peter?”

Peter met his snarl with one of his own. “I didn’t expect him to go for you like that. He should have gone for me first and I would have ripped out his throat in seconds.”

Stiles barked out a furious laugh. “And then you would have bit me yourself?” He would have shaken his head if moving it didn’t make the bite on his throat burn. “If you had told us about him, we could have prepared for this, Peter.”

“I was going to make you my emissary, not my goddamn beta.” Peter stood up and slammed a fist into a tree, leaving a deep indent in the wood. “The wolves scattered in these woods? Those were his betas, they were going to be mine.” He bared his teeth in a furious snarl, eyes flashing red. “Believe me or not, Stiles, I didn’t want you to get bitten and I didn’t want Christopher to nearly fucking die.”

“I don’t believe you,” Stiles said flatly. 

“Well it’s a good thing the truth doesn’t rely on a teenaged boy believing it or not.” Peter stalked over to the edge of the lake and let out a bitter laugh. “But the unicorn will stop being a threat to the town, we’ve achieved that much.”

“And you got exactly what you wanted. What are you gonna do now, Peter? Challenge Scott for ownership of Beacon Hills?” Stiles narrowed his eyes and scowled. “You might technically by my alpha, but I’m not supporting you.”

Peter smirked and walked into the cold lake, letting the water wash the blood from his naked skin. “I can wait for Scott to leave for college. I told you this before, I’m not interested in hurting him or his pack of mongrels.” 

“No, you’re just going to set up in his territory.”

“I’ve already been set up in Beacon Hills.” Peter scrubbed at his chest.

“He’s not going to just accept that you’re living here and aren’t a threat to him.” Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled up clumps of grass from the ground. “You don’t exactly have a track record of being the world’s most trustworthy werewolf.”

“Ah, but I have his best friend and a former hunter in my pack. Both of whom I saved from a murderous alpha and his crazed beast.”

“You put us in the situation.”

Peter started walking out of the water and Stiles averted his eyes, realizing just how naked he was. All of his clothes had been ripped to shreds when he first shifted into the full shift and there was no more blood masking naked skin. “Do you want to be run out of your home, Stiles?” Peter asked, voice quiet and full of menace. “Because If you don’t back up my story of me playing hero and meaning no harm to the McCall Pack, that’s what will happen if Scott forces me out.”

Peter paused and picked Chris up, cradling him gently against his chest. Chris only groaned, eyes shut but looking moderately better than he had before. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I didn’t want you bitten. Christopher? I had been planning on biting him — I told him as much.”

Stiles stood up, wincing in pain, his entire body hurt. “When?”

White teeth glistened in the moonlight, “He didn’t just come over when you did. He and I spent time together on our own.” He laughed in his own private joke. “You weren’t meant to be my stay in Beacon Hills card, so you can put away your righteous indignation.”

“I have so many things I can be furious about right now Peter. Number one on the list is, oh I don’t know, how I nearly fucking  _ died _ .” Stiles stopped and scowled at Peter’s back.

Peter looked over his shoulder. “But you didn’t, even Christopher will be fine.”

Stiles snarled in frustration, “You’re missing the point.”

“Sweetheart, you knew that I was after my own gains the entire time. You decided to work with me knowing that.” Peter kept walking. “Maybe I kept out some details and things didn’t go exactly as planned. But you knew what you were getting into. So you can either go running to Scott, crying out mean, evil Peter and his scary plots, or you can come back with me and help Chris.”

He hated Peter on a level he hadn’t hated anyone ever before. He also hated the way he took only a few seconds before matching his path back to the SUV. Most of all, he hated the way that his brain was screaming at him that the idea of leaving Peter was wrong and how he couldn’t figure out how much of that was the wolf in his brain and how much came from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a peter/chris side fic coming Very soon eyes emoji (very soon as in like probably tomorrow lol)  
idk if I've said this on here or not, but this fic is gonna stay peter/stiles and I'm going to write a peter/chris/stiles sequel fic lol  
\----  
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	8. Chapter 8

With the adrenaline out of his system, the bite on Stiles’ throat seared in pain. It had been easy enough to ignore the fact that, oh yeah, a fucking deranged alpha werewolf tried to rip out his throat and so he was either gonna die or become a werewolf. Really cool, great, fantastic.

The pain was made worse by the clear tension in the car as Peter sped down back roads towards Beacon Hills. Chris was laid down across the back seats of his SUV and he looked terrible. The bite might have saved him from the poison killing him, but the wound on his side leaked cloudy, dark liquid and his skin was clammy and pale.

Stiles was still steaming mad but the way his neck and entire body ached made the anger harder to focus on. With the shock wearing off, it was only the pain and his anger that kept him awake. As it was, he found it hard to focus and his mind kept drifting, only to be brought back to his body in a wave of pain when Peter hit a rough spot in the road or turned too fast. 

He zoned out again, eyes foggy in pain. He came to when Peter snapped a finger in front of his face. “Don’t fall asleep, Stiles.”

“I’m not falling asleep,” Stiles responded. He made the mistake of shaking his head slightly and he felt the gouges in his neck twist painfully.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Peter repeated. His eyes were firmly on the road and Stiles noticed that his grip on the steering wheel was white knuckle tight. Whether he was worried about the safety of Stiles and Chris as people or just investments that were very close to falling through, Stiles had no real idea. He had a feeling that it was more of the latter but Peter was an impossible man to read. Especially when on an adrenaline crash mixed with getting bitten by a nutso werewolf. 

Stiles flipped Peter off and tried to move his head as little as possible as he stared out the window of the car. His vision kept blurring in that hazy unfocused way that was more than a little concerning. But every time he started seeing double, he’d just blink and force himself to correct his eyesight. 

The bonus of staring out the window came when he noticed Peter wasn’t going the right way to get back to his apartment. At first he wondered if it was the blood loss that made him feel like Peter should have made a left turn like a mile back. And then they were headed in a direction significantly less downtown than Peter’s place was.

“This isn’t your apartment,” Stiles said as they passed an old warehouse. 

“Wow, I could have sworn I lived just down the street.” The sarcasm in Peter’s tone was laid on so heavily that it made Stiles strongly consider breaking his fist by punching his face.

Peter flicked his eyes towards him, “My complex has security cameras and plenty of people at all times. For some reason the three of us — or two of us, I suppose — walking into it might raise some eyebrows. We’re going to Derek’s loft.”

That was a surprisingly reasonable answer. Stiles was covered in blood, both his and the caster’s, Peter was half naked (an upgrade over his previous nude state thanks to finding an extra pair of jeans in the trunk of the SUV), and Chris looked only moderately better than a corpse. Stiles wondered how they’d explain themselves if they got pulled over. Yeah, he knew all the deputies but Peter didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation and the amount of blood was a bad look.

“Okay yes but Derek.” For some reason, Stiles had a feeling that Derek wouldn’t take spectacularly well to seeing Chris and Stiles with wolf bites and Peter with glowing eyes. Also the whole  _ yeah we kept this whole plan a secret from you and did all of this behind Scott’s back and I guess it turned out that Peter used this as a scheme to become an alpha again  _ thing would probably go over even worse. 

“I already told him he should probably expect me tonight,” was all that Peter said. It really did nothing to alleviate Stiles’ concerns, because yes, he might have told Derek to expect him but he didn’t tell him to expect their current state.

But Stiles was too fucking exhausted and hurty to argue the point. There was no point to it, honestly, because Peter either wasn’t going to give him a straight answer or he was going to blatantly lie. So Stiles went back to staring out the window as they passed more warehouses, trying to ignore the bad feeling in his gut.

Eventually, they got to Derek’s building and slowed to a stop in front of it, ignoring the mostly empty parking spaces. Stiles dreaded the thought of walking the distance from the SUV to the rickety elevator but there was no way in hell he was about to ask Peter for help. So when the doors unlocked, Stiles opened his and got out on unsteady, shaking legs.

The world spun around him, an unpleasant reminder of just how much blood he had lost. It made him briefly think that  _ oh shit, we should probably call Melissa _ , but she’d tell Scott and that was probably a conversation best had on a night where Stiles wasn’t covered in blood and Chris, the rational one, could explain things instead of looking an inch away from death. 

Calling his dad was probably a good idea that he’d do when he was up in the loft. Bracing him before having to see the deep gouges in his neck, granted Stiles thought that if he just waited a few days the wounds would be totally gone. Then he’d just have to hide the whole wolfing out from his dad.

Yeah, that would go well for all of five seconds until someone in the pack smelled him and freaked the fuck out. Or Derek spilled the entire bag of beans. Okay, up front and honest with his dad was the best, least heart attack inducing, plan. 

Stiles got to the front door of the building and leaned heavily on it as he waited for Peter. He was cradling Chris in his arms bridal style, if it had been any other situation, Stiles probably would have laughed at the sight. The blood that covered Chris made it deadly unfunny, however. The only thing that was stopping Stiles from a full blown panic attack was the lack of black goop, that and the fact that he wasn’t sure there was enough blood left in his body to support a panic attack.

“You look terrible,” Peter said as he brushed past Stiles and opened the door with a light kick. 

“Really? I thought I looked fan-fucking-tasting right now. Do I have to go back to my stylist and let her know that she did a shit job?” Stiles snapped, he had really been going more for biting sarcasm with his response but he landed far past that into the realm of sounding just fucking pissed. Of course, that’s just where his emotions happened to be at the moment.

Peter gave him a disparaging look. “I’m giving you a bath as soon as Christopher is taken care of so I can see what damage the caster had done to you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and followed Peter inside. “The damage he did was biting me as a fucking  _ alpha werewolf _ . You know, the type that turns humans into werewolves with a bite? The thing that I  _ didn’t want to be _ .” After he spoke, he finally fully processed the first part of what Peter had said. He stopped in his tracks. “Also, you are not bathing me.”

“Would you rather Derek?” Peter asked and Stiles could hear the way his eyebrows rose. “Because you’re not in any condition to be doing that yourself.” He hit the up button for the rickety elevator with an elbow.

“My neck was bitten, that’s not enough to make me an invalid.” Stiles ignored the way that he really would have rather been sitting or laying down opposed to standing up in that moment. It wouldn’t have made his case any better. But seriously, he could bathe himself for heaven’s sake. 

“I need to check for internal damage and it’s easier with you naked.” The elevator dinged and Peter stepped inside. “I’m not going to take advantage of you, my delicate little maiden, so don’t worry about your innocence.”

Stiles had the distinct impression that Peter was making fun of him. But of course he was, Peter was the king of snide remarks and constant insults. So Stiles let it slide, in the order of things Peter had done that night to make him angry, treating him like a prudish virgin, afraid of being seen naked, was pretty fucking low.

Instead of responding, Stiles followed Peter into the elevator and hit the button for Derek’s floor. The doors closed and the elevator gave a terrifying shudder before it started to slowly climb. Every small shake had Stiles gritting his teeth as pain coursed through his body. His fists were white knuckled on the bar he held onto by the time they slowed to a stop.

He was going to swallow his pride and ask Derek to take the pain away. Asking Peter was an invitation for more trouble, but Derek would most likely just glower at him and give him a hard time for a couple of minutes but that was because he was mad that someone got hurt who wasn’t him. He could live with that.

He walked out of the elevator first and was unsurprised to see the sliding door to the loft was open. Derek probably heard the elevator running — Stiles wasn’t even a wolf and he could have heard it from the loft. So Stiles limped through the door and gingerly sat down on the couch.

“Don’t freak out,” Stiles said. There was no way that Derek couldn’t smell the blood, the pain, the panic, and the poison on his body. Not to mention the whole Peter carrying Chris’s limp form thing. Derek was probably on his way to a Derek Hale panic attack which was more of a furrowing of brows and jaw clenched tight enough to break teeth than what Stiles went through. 

Derek definitely looked like that, expression right with a mixture of concern and anger. “What did you do, Peter?” He asked, voice quiet and tense. 

Peter ignored Derek until he set Chris down on Derek’s bed and stripped him of his jacket and vest. “What did I do?” Peter asked, false innocence dripping from his voice. “I saved their lives— actually I helped save the lives of the entire west coast thank you very much.”

Derek snarled and he took a step towards Peter, dark eyes flicking between Chris and Stiles. “I see one man close to death, another with his throat nearly ripped out, and you looking perfectly fine. What. Did. You. Do?”

“I killed the caster behind the corrupted unicorn that slaughtered all those people. You’re welcome.”

“The caster, who was an alpha, since Peter’s conveniently forgetting that part,” Stiles dryly added. “So you’re looking at Peter’s second shot at being an alpha and his two half dead betas. Ta-dah.” He would have given some jazz hands or maybe some spirit fingers if moving his arms didn’t twinge his neck something fierce.

Derek clenched his fists and Stiles wondered if he was going to see blood dripping from his fingers when he relaxed his hands. “I don’t want to be an alpha again but I swear to god, Peter, I will kill you if I need to.”

Peter shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Nobody trusts me, I’m genuinely hurt.” His eyes were sharp as he looked at Derek and then Stiles before he moved to where he knew the first aid supplies were kept. “But you don’t need to worry yourself sick, dearest nephew, I’m not planning on going on another killing spree.”

Derek looked dubious and Stiles couldn’t blame him. “Scott needs to know.”

“And Scott  _ will _ know, when the time’s right. Which isn’t tonight,” Peter said. He paused and looked towards Derek, head tilted ever so slightly, “I’m not the villain of this story, not since chapter one at any rate.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” A year ago, Stiles would have taken the tone of Derek’s voice as angry. But by this point he knew better, Derek was upset and maybe even a little bit worried. Actually, by the way he kept looking at Chris, it was probably a lot worried.

“Because you would have martyred yourself to save everyone and Scott would have disapproved of killing the caster to break the spell.” Peter wet a rag with some distilled water and frowned deeply. “Not to mention this went to shit enough as is.” He brought the rag and some other supplies over to Stiles and narrowed his eyes. “This is going to hurt.”

Stiles barely restrained himself from slapping Peter’s hand away when he started to dab at his blood covered neck. Instead he let out a small hiss of pain as Peter cleaned dried blood off of sensitive skin. At least this meant the bath was just another way for Peter to fuck with him, hopefully.

“You keep forgetting to mention the fact that this was a fucking alpha. I wonder if that had any influence on who you asked to come along and help you?” Stiles said through gritted teeth, fists clenched as he tried to handle the pain. “That being only me.”

Chris wouldn’t have been laying there, nearly dead if it weren’t for the bite, if it wasn’t for him. The thought was sobering. He was the one who forced Chris into this. But tragedy and werewolves went hand in hand, it was just something that Stiles had been forced to accept the night Scott and Derek saw Erica’s corpse in the bank.

Chris wasn’t going to die, that’s what mattered in the moment. Stiles told himself that at least.

“How long had you known about what was actually happening?” Derek pressed a hand to the back of Stiles’ neck and Stiles groaned as he felt the pain lifted from him. “People were slaughtered while you plotted.”

“People were slaughtered as Stiles, Christopher and I did research into the problem. I only confirmed that it was an alpha behind the unicorn after Stiles and I located him.” Peter forced Stiles out of the jacket and vest before dragging a clawed finger down the tight, blood stiffened shirt, ripping it open. Stiles knew he should have protested, but then Peter was cleaning the blood off of not hurting skin and he couldn’t bring himself to.

“The caster had killed his betas, used them to taunt me. I don’t think he had known it was me specifically after him, but he knew that at least a portion of the pack was onto him,” Peter explained as he dabbed neosporin onto the deep gouges on Stiles’ neck. “So the three of us moved on him earlier tonight. I hadn’t expected him to go after Stiles or for the spell to have not immediately collapsed when he died.”

Derek let out a hissing sigh, “I’m not going to take your side over Scott’s if it comes down to a fight.”

“Amazingly enough, I’m not looking for a fight. If I was looking to cause a problem, I would have just ripped Scott’s throat out and called it a day.” Peter narrowed his eyes and looked past Stiles to Derek. “Did I abuse Stiles and Christopher’s good faith? Perhaps, but they knew I was plotting something. If McCall wants a fight, that’s on him.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

Peter gave Derek a slight smirk, “It is simple. I killed an alpha who was mad and a threat to the area, I’m not planning on doing anything to harm Scott nor his pack, and I saved Stiles and Christopher’s lives tonight.”

“From a situation you placed them in.”

Peter shook his head and stood up. “What would have happened if it hadn’t been the three of us? Would Scott have found another way? Would the caster have suddenly seen the light and undone his spell? No.” He paused and for a moment his eyes flashed alpha red. “What would have happened was that more people would have died, the pack of teenagers would step in and an untold number of them would have been slaughtered. I saved lives.”

Stiles couldn’t help the way he barked out a laugh. “You sure have found a way to make yourself sound like the hero here.” He frowned and looked up at Derek, “I don’t think he’s actively a threat to Scott but he was going after his own benefit this entire time. Any lives saved are just a happy side effect for him.”

Derek matched Stiles’ frown with one of his own. “And what about Argent?” He moved his hand from Stiles’ neck and crossed his arms across his chest. Stiles didn’t miss the way concern colored his face as he looked towards Chris. “He smells like death.”

Peter paused, gauze held in his hands, and tilted his head. “He was gored by a beast that spread poison with a simple touch. If I hadn’t bit him, he would have died in his car.” He paused again, it was calculated, Stiles knew. There was no way it wasn’t, not when he continued just before Derek could respond. “He won’t die, not from this.”

Derek’s jaw worked. “And how about when he kills himself?” There was the briefest flash of blue as his control slipped for the tiniest moment. 

“I’m going to be entirely, one hundred percent honest with you,” Peter said in a low voice. He moved forward until he was nearly chest to chest, nose to nose with Derek. “He knew I was going to turn him eventually. This was not how I had planned it, but it was planned.”

“Did he agree to be turned or did he just not give you the denial of chopping off your head?” Derek asked with a sardonic laugh. 

“He accepted that being turned was the price he had to pay to save the day,” Peter responded. His face was grim, there was no trace of his usual detached, smug humor. It was like a glimpse under the mask and Stiles wondered if he was actually seeing Peter’s true face for the first time. He looked like a completely different person and Stiles couldn’t help the shudder that wracked through his body.

“Lycanthropy isn’t the curse that the hunters in this world like to claim that it is and Christopher has come to accept that. Would he have rather perished, dying to an infection that none other have survived, or would he have rather lived on, stronger, more powerful than he was before?” Peter stared, unblinking, at Derek. “He’ll survive this and come back more able to protect those he cares for.”

Derek looked away from Peter towards Chris. “If he shows any sign of not wanting this, I will have Braeden put you far enough into the dirt that you will never come back.”

Peter clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder and shook it lightly. Had anyone else done that, it might have looked playful. But from Peter it looked like a threat, especially as Stiles thought of how easily he could crush bones with a single hand. “He wanted this, I can promise that.”

His words didn’t make Stiles feel any better.

——

Stiles didn’t know when he dozed off, he only knew that when he awoke, he was in a room only vaguely familiar to him. The second floor of Derek’s loft.

His head pounded and his neck burned. It was different than the painful throb of before. Now it felt like he had been lit aflame and his neck was the center of the fire. A firm hand stopped him from ripping at the bandages around his neck.

“Did he bite you?” Derek sounded exhausted. Either at the thought of two more newly turned wolves or by Peter’s most recent betrayal of his good faith.

Stiles looked at Derek and chewed on his bottom lip. “It wasn’t him, it was the caster. Peter said that he wouldn't have bitten me, that he wanted me as his emissary.”

“Do you trust him on that?” Derek raised his brows.

Stiles breathed out a laugh and shrugged his shoulders. Which, ow, bad idea. “I don’t fucking know, dude. Maybe? He seemed super pissed but he also might have just wanted to bite me himself.”

Derek let go of his wrist and hissed out a breath. Worried, rather than angry Stiles decided was how he sounded. Maybe a bit angry, but more with himself than Stiles. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and frowned deeply. “You, Argent, Peter, all of you could have died.”

Stiles shifted in the bed, trying to sit upright without wanting to vomit. He didn’t have much success but he did manage to be slightly more vertical than horizontal. “I don’t trust Peter and I wanted as few people as possible involved in this.” He let out a sigh and pursed his lips. “And he had also made some compelling points in regards to getting the pack involved— you would have tried to sacrifice yourself to save everyone else, Scott would have vetoed this, and pretty much everyone but Malia and Lydia would have told Scott what was going on.”

“How are you gonna explain this to Scott?” Derek asked, expression tight. “He doesn’t have the most traditional pack but every single instinct of his is going to fight having a rival pack on the same territory.”

Stiles anxiously picked at his cuticles. “If the bite takes, I can just join his pack, right?”

“Peter’s your alpha now.” Derek shot down his tiny flicker of hope with a single sentence. “Unless he was killed by someone who couldn’t take his spark, you’re his beta and will always be.”

“But Isaac—“

“I gave up my spark to save Cora so he was free to choose to join another pack. Do you think Peter would give up his spark?”

Stiles stayed silent.

“Exactly. So Peter’s poached at least two from Scott’s pack and is going to hole up on his territory. Even if Scott liked Peter as a starting point, this wouldn’t end well.”

Derek ran a hand down his scruff and looked down at the staircase. “If Chris doesn’t make it there will be war and you’ll be caught in the crossfire. Even if you don’t want to fight for Peter, you’ll have a hard time denying his pull.”

“Scott denied his pull,” Stiles pointed out.

“Scott had the seed of being a true alpha planted in him, that’s why he was able to avoid Peter’s — and eventually my — pull.” Derek let out a heavy sigh and scratched at his jaw. He wasn’t meeting Stiles’ eye, eyes roaming everywhere in the room but Stiles’ direction. “While you were asleep, I talked with Peter more. He didn’t sound like he was lying when he said that he didn’t want any problems with Scott but I’m fairly certain he could tell me that the sky’s orange and cats can fly while sounding honest.”

“I kinda wish the caster had just ripped out my throat,” Stiles laughed, a halfhearted noise. He felt the faint burn of pain as he ripped a cuticle from his picking. It wasn’t anything compared to the pain in his neck.

Derek grunted. “Peter shouldn’t have taken you out there.”

Stiles bristled, he couldn’t help himself. “I was the one who destroyed the anchor for the spell. Without me, we’d probably all be fucked.”

“Not the point, Stiles,” Derek snapped. “He should have brought me or even Malia. Peter  _ knew  _ there was an alpha there and he still put you at risk.”

On a reasonable level, Stiles knew that Derek was right; he was a human without any of the training that Chris or Allison had. But at the same time, Stiles also was the only one with his knowledge of magic and spells aside from Deaton or maybe Peter. He doubted anyone but him would have figured out the anchor. So sue him if he felt a little insulted.

Derek probably smelled the annoyance building up in him because he let out a grunt. “I’m not saying you’re not competent, I’m saying Peter put you at risk just so he could manipulate you.”

“Isn’t that his whole thing? I’m pretty sure he tries to manipulate the fucking cashier at Whole Foods when he’s checking out. I knew he picked me so he could manipulate me, but also because I have a wealth of knowledge you guys don’t.” Ugh, now he was defending Peter. He didn’t want to defend Peter but it wasn’t like he hadn’t known what he was getting into the moment he agreed to help Peter out. Of fucking course he knew Peter was after his own gains, it was insulting to even insinuate that he hadn’t known that. 

“Peter’s a shit dude and I’m furious with him, but he’s not a fucking idiot, Derek. Having me there was a calculated risk.” Calculated in the sense that all of the work was wildly incorrect but somehow the final answer came out right. “I know this is all because you feel really bad about me getting my throat nearly torn out and now I’m on my way to becoming a werewolf but seriously, come on.”

Derek was suddenly very interested in the floor. “I’m just worried about you,” he said gruffly as if the admission pained him.

Stiles reached for the gauze around his neck and his lips tightened. “Yeah, I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peter is just that one painting of a bird. you know the one? the "I took a calculated risk but man am I bad at math"  
he's also the "I'd sell you to satan for one corn chip" bird. Okay, fuck being knifecat, Peter's just those bird paintings with the captions.
> 
> I hope you all have a good thanksgiving, I'm excited to make pie and fall into a food coma for 9000 years!


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles was absolutely not ready to go home. Yes, the wound on his neck was nearly healed by the time Derek told him he was taking him home — an uncomfortable reminder that he was in fact becoming a werewolf — so he wouldn’t have to explain that to his dad, but it also wasn’t like he could just hide the whole werewolf thing from him forever. He could probably hide it for like a week but that was pushing things.

So he only argued a little bit with Derek a bit when he dragged him back down the loft. “You’re not an invalid, you don’t need to spend the entire night here,” Derek said with a frown. He apparently didn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes flickered towards the empty bed on the first floor. “Peter took Chris to his apartment to keep an eye on him.”

Stiles raised his brows, “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I really don’t know what to think right now,” Derek let out a massive sigh. “He’s probably not gonna make Chris any worse at the very least and I don’t really want anybody in the pack coming in with a half-dead and very obviously bitten Chris here alongside Peter with his second shot at being an alpha.”

“Can’t forget the Stiles who was very nearly decapitated via crazy nutso light alpha werewolf who nobody but Lydia knew about.” Stiles attempted a grin and he got halfway there before it faltered. He pressed the down button for the elevator to avoid looking Derek in his eyes. “Dad’s gonna be scared, Scott’s gonna be scared, pissed, and disappointed, and I don’t even know what I’m gonna say to Allison. Like how do you say, hey I asked your dad to help me out with this thing and it nearly ended in him being killed and absolutely ended in him in a rival pack with an alpha who has a very tentative relationship with the word sanity.”

“I’m really not the best person to come to in order to talk about your feelings and how to best deliver this sort of news to people.” Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and frowned deeply. “Just rip the bandaid off and tell everyone the truth. Either they’ll accept it or they won’t, it’s not like they can turn back time and make all this shit not happen.”

The rickety old elevator shuddered to a stop at their floor so they hopped on. “I forgot how skilled you were with expressing your emotions.” Stiles playfully elbowed Derek and it felt like he had elbowed a brick wall. “Not to press too personal but were you always like that or was it a… you know, a whole you got sexually abused by Kate and then she killed your family so now you have a hard time opening up in fear of being taken advantage of again thing?”

Derek gave him the side eye. “You’re the king of tact.”

“That’s me, the guy who handles everything with exactly the level of delicacy necessary.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I was a teenage boy and teenagers aren’t exactly known for being the most emotionally open. So I don’t know, I guess I was always like this and then Kate didn’t make it any better. Satisfied?” The elevator stopped on the first floor and Derek stalked out first, Stiles following closely behind.

“Does Braeden help?” Stiles asked quietly. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before continuing, “I know what it’s like to have everyone else say that oh it’s not your fault, you were taken advantage of by something evil. My case, evil ancient fox spirit, your case, evil thirty year old cougar, same difference. But like, okay at the end of the day they can say that as much as they want but it still fucking sucks and you blame yourself.”

“Braeden gives…” Derek paused and drew his brows together. “She’s good, I think. She understands me.”

“I like her,” Stiles said, voice still soft and quiet. “When’s she coming back to town?”

Derek unlocked his car and slid in. “She’ll be back in a couple of weeks, she’ll be staying for a month.”

“So if you suddenly have trouble sitting, I’ll know she’s in town?” A grin tugged at the corners of Stiles’ lips.

The grin stretched wider as he watched Derek turn those words around in his mind enough times to actually process what Stiles meant. His face went from confused to disgusted to embarrassed — they were all nearly the same expression with just minute facial twitches but Stiles finally had known Derek long enough to get a handle on what those twitches meant.

“Shut up Stiles.”

Stiles laughed loudly, “Do I need to ask Allison to supply some wolfsbane rope or actually Braeden already has that, doesn’t she? What’s your safeword, silver?”

“If you keep talking, you’re walking home.” Derek started up the car despite his words. “I don’t talk about the fact that you’re sleeping with my uncle, you don’t need to talk about me sleeping with Braeden.”

“Okay but I’m not actually sleeping with Peter. Holy shit I can finally say that, thank god. I just lied to cover up the whole working behind Scott’s back thing.” One good thing came from the disaster of an evening at least.

Derek let out a breath. “Oh,” was all he said.

Well, it was until he followed it up with, “Why the fuck was sleeping with him the first thing you ca— I don’t want to know.”

“Smart man.”

Derek grunted and they drove the rest of the way back to Stiles’ place in near silence. It wasn’t totally an uncomfortable silence; it was just the type that Stiles had gotten used to with Derek. The edge of uncomfortable was always there with Derek never really sure of what to say and Stiles trying not to just run his mouth.

It was remarkably status quo for a night that was remarkably not status quo — or morning, Stiles supposed, seeing as it was nearly three. That was a comforting thought. He had never expected the awkward silence that could happen with Derek would be comforting, but all of his expectations could be thrown to the wind.

Derek’s hand was a sudden, firm presence on his shoulder as they slowed to a stop in front of Stiles’ place. “Keep him in check,” he said softly. 

“I’ll try,” Stiles said. He wasn’t exactly sure if that was possible and honestly, Chris was probably the better option than him for keeping Peter from being, well, Peter. But Chris was out of commission for the time being (which was hopefully only a couple of days but Stiles had no clue) so the burden came down to him.

Trying was really the best he could do.

Derek nodded a goodbye as Stiles shut the passenger side door and Stiles watched as he drove off into the night. He stood there until the tail lights disappeared and then some more. He fingered at the gauze around his neck, formerly deep gouges now just scabs, and unease twisted in his belly.

The lights in the living room were on, Stiles could see that from the street. He didn’t know if his dad was still up or if he just forgot to switch them off. It was likely that he was still up, waiting for him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Stiles turned around and walked to his front door. He felt his heart thundering in his chest, heard the blood pounding in his ears as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob. His keys were in his pocket, he could turn around and drive his Jeep to Peter’s place and chicken out for the night. He could face his dad later. 

“Fuck you, Peter,” Stiles snarled under his breath before he opened the front door.

Stiles walked inside and slid off his shoes before he padded over to the living room. The TV was on, playing highlights of a baseball game, and his dad was asleep on the couch, still in his uniform.

“Dad?” Stiles asked softly, gently shaking his dad’s shoulder. 

Noah jerked awake and blinked several times to clear the sleep from his eyes. “Stiles?” His voice was sleep rough and it took a few more moments for him to wake up. “Where were you tonight, I tried calling you.”

Shit, his phone had died at some point post-caster and pre-nap. Not like he had even been checking it, he had some more important shit happening at the time. “Peter, Chris, and I were handling the whole evil dark unicorn thing and…”

Noah frowned, awake enough to tell when Stiles was reluctant to talk. “What happened to your neck?” He asked, starting to reach out with a hand but apparently he thought better of it. The hand that he lifted laid down to rest on a pillow.

“The caster was a werewolf — an alpha.”

Noah’s eyes widened, puzzle pieces all slotting together. “Peter knew, didn’t he?” He didn’t even wait for Stiles to verbalize an affirmative, instead he swore quietly. “Did Peter bite you?”

Stiles shook his head quickly, “No, the caster was gonna rip my throat out and Peter totally wolfed out. Like four paws and would be cute a cute dog if he wasn’t like four hundred pounds and also Peter Hale.” Off track, he was getting off track, so he forced his brain to steer back to the topic. “Peter bit Chris but it was after he was gored by the unicorn and probably gonna die.”

There had probably been better ways to word that, especially since Noah’s face became the picture definition of concerned. “Chris was  _ gored _ ? Is he at the hospital, do I need to call Melissa?”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Dad, he’s fine. Probably. But Scott doesn’t know about… well, any of this.”

“Jesus, kid.” Noah ran an exhausted hand down his face and looked towards Stiles with a frown. “You were bitten by an alpha, you need to talk with Scott. He’ll understand.”

And just like that, everything holding Stiles together collapsed. He let out a ragged breath and flopped down next to his dad on the couch. “I’m scared, dad,” he said in the faintest whisper. His hand rubbed at the gauze around his neck and he swallowed hard. “Peter says he doesn’t mean Scott any harm but I don’t know if I can trust him. If I had known the caster was an alpha I would’ve…” he trailed off. He would have what? Just let him keep controlling the unicorn while he, Chris, and Lydia looked up ways to break the spell? Let Peter go after him, all by himself, totally alone?

No matter how much Stiles thought about it, he couldn’t come up with a better solution than what had happened. That’s the part that stung the worst.

Noah turned off the TV and looked at Stiles. “Neither you nor Chris came up with a better way to handle this,” he said in his gentle but tired way. “I wish you had gotten more people involved but you can’t turn back time.”

Stiles stared at the blank TV and bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. “Derek said that there’ll be problems no matter what and, god, what if someone gets hurt? What if  _ I  _ hurt someone?” He pulled at his hair and flicked his eyes to his dad before looking back at the TV. “They’re not some deranged spellcaster, they’re my  _ friends _ . I mean there’s also Liam but he’s just a dumbass, that’s not enough to kill a person for.”

“So as the sheriff I’m going to ignore the way you have a threshold for what amounts to being okay with killing someone,” Noah said wryly. He rested a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades and rubbed gently. “Derek said there’ll be problems because he’s always convinced the worst possible outcome is going to happen. Scott’s not going to jump to a territory war with Peter, not with you and Chris at stake.” He paused and looked at the wall. “And you’re not going to hurt anyone, Stiles, I know you won’t.”

“Even Scott tried to kill me his first shift,” Stiles pointed out.

“You know more about being a werewolf than he does,” Noah replied. “And you have a support network, even if there’s some pack issues, Scott’s your brother. He wouldn’t let you hurt anyone.”

When his dad said it like that, it seemed so simple. The magic of being a parent, suddenly everything you said sounded like a good idea. Stiles knew it wasn’t as simple as just telling Scott and suddenly everything would be okay, but it was late, he was exhausted, and for once in his life he wanted everything to go well.

——

Stiles could probably have been called a coward for not immediately talking to Scott the next day. Instead he found himself driving over to Peter’s apartment to check on Chris. On one hand, yeah, he was avoiding a difficult conversation. On the other, he was actually worried about Chris.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, he just twisted the surprisingly unlocked knob and let himself in. Honestly, even if it had been locked he had a few bobby pins in his wallet and a healthy knowledge of lock picking. If Peter was gonna force him into his bullshit pack, he wasn’t going to respect things like Peter’s locked doors.

“How’s Chris?” Stiles asked as soon as he was in. He had other concerns but that was the most pressing.

“It’s considered polite to knock before entering someone’s home,” Peter said with a frown. He was in his kitchen, towel over his shoulder and cooking something in a frying pan.

“Yeah, cool, so is telling people that the evil spellcaster is an alpha werewolf. How’s Chris?”

“Chris is pissed as hell and not wanting to stand up because he still hurts but fine,” Chris called from the living room, waving a hand. Stiles couldn’t help the sigh of relief he breathed out. 

“Does Allison know?” Stiles walked over to the couch and sat down on the ottoman.

Chris was laying down, shirtless and with a bandage over his side, but he looked worlds better than he had the previous night. He winced as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet,” he said, frowning. “I’m not exactly sure what to say.”

“Telling her you’re not planning on killing yourself would be a good start,” Peter called from the kitchen. 

“Shut up, Peter,” Chris and Stiles said at the same time.

“I don’t know how to tell Scott about this. Like it would have been one thing if it had just been us murdering the caster, but now Peter’s an alpha again and we were bitten.” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a whole fucking mess.”

Chris sighed, “Honestly, I don’t know either. Scott’s not the average alpha but…”

“But Peter,” Stiles finished Chris’s thought for him with a sigh of his own.

“But Peter isn’t planning on challenging Scott or causing any issues.” Peter walked over, three plates of food in hand. They were some cheesy potato, onion, and bacon mix. Stiles hated how good it smelled and how his stomach loudly rumbled when Peter handed him a plate and a fork.

“I’m sure Derek was a ray of sunshine last night, telling you how poorly everything was going to go,” Peter continued, settling down in an armchair and resting his plate on a knee. “But unless I start challenging him for his territory, he’s not gonna feel any instinctual urge to defend it.”

Stiles glanced over at Chris who was frowning at Peter. “Is that the whole truth or are you picking and choosing what to tell us again?” Chris asked before he took a bite of the potato mix.

“You wound me.” Peter dramatically threw a hand over his heart. “And I am being open and honest here. Do you really think Scott would risk harming Stiles, Christopher?”

“I think that you have a history of withholding important information that could potentially make you not get your way.” Chris’s dry tone nearly made Stiles choke on his bite of potatoes. “So, humor me here, what are the potential worst case problems we could be seeing?”

Peter looked flatly at Chris. “Worst case is we get into a territory dispute that kills everyone, Scott kills Stiles and then kills himself in despair, you’re forced to kill Allison and then die of heartbreak, and I’m set alight again.” He took a bite of his food and chewed for a few moments before he continued, “The most realistic scenario is that Scott bristles and there’s some verbal arguments and that’s it.”

Chris looked unconvinced but instead of arguing, he gave a dubious grunt before muttering, “The food’s good, Peter.”

“Of course it is,” Peter said with the smile that had probably charmed countless strangers at bars. “I don’t serve people bad food.”

“So humble.” Stiles rolled his eyes, but the food was actually really good. But it wasn’t good enough to distract him from the dire wolf in the room. “The full moon’s in two weeks.”

Peter’s gaze darkened. “You’re not going to hurt anyone, sweetheart. I’ll be keeping an eye on you and Christopher.” He looked uncharacteristically somber and he leaned forward in his seat. “Newly bitten wolves go feral when their alpha can’t control them properly. I wasn’t in the right state when I bit Scott, Derek was never meant to be an alpha, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what it actually means to be an alpha. You won’t lose control because I won’t let you.”

Despite himself, Stiles was comforted by those words. Peter was a liar but Stiles let himself believe that for once in his life he was saying the truth. It was easier to think that everything would be alright than it was to keep thinking about the worst case scenario. 

“Nothing will happen to my pack again.” Peter’s eyes flashed alpha red and a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. Stiles fought the urge to bare his neck at the sound.

But as soon as it happened, Peter’s eyes were blue once more. “Finish your breakfast before it gets cold, Stiles. We’ll have plenty of time to talk more later,” he said, flashing Stiles his brilliant smile.

——

Because Stiles was a coward, he asked Scott to meet him at a diner a few blocks down the street from Peter’s apartment. The potential for a blowup was lessened by the public setting and, as much as Stiles hated to admit it, the thought of being only a quick drive from Peter’s apartment was comforting. The fucking parasite in his mind was already seeking solace in its alpha. Ugh.

“Hey, Stiles, what’s up?” The scrape of chair legs across cheap linoleum was loud in Stiles’ ears and he looked up from the straw wrapper he was tearing into tiny pieces to see Scott.

“Hey,” Stiles started. He rubbed the thin paper between two fingernails, feeling it tear up easily. “I, uh, have some things that we probably need to talk about?”

“Like you sleeping with Peter?” Scott laughed, not quite picking up on the source of Stiles’ anxiety.

A breath hissed out from clenched teeth. “So that actually was a lie,” Stiles gave an awkward laugh. “I mean I guess I slept in the same bed as Peter but we haven’t fucked.”

Stiles could see the confusion in Scott’s eyes. So he continued, “Uh, starting from the beginning. Right. So Peter, Chris, and I had been working together to stop the thing that was ripping out hearts. It was a unicorn by the way.”

“A unicorn? Seriously?” Scott asked, because that was the bit that was more surprising than Chris, Peter, and Stiles all working together.

“Yeah, I know, it sounds so dumb right?” Stiles couldn’t help the genuine laugh. “But it was… Scott, the beast was terrifying. It had come here because of the Nemeton — I think at least — and then there was this spellcaster who managed to get control over it. He turned it from like a creature of light to one of darkness and so that’s why it was eating organs and stuff.”

Scott blinked, trying to process what Stiles was saying. “So where is he?” He asked. “The spellcaster I mean, or at least how can we undo the spell?”

Stiles paused as a waitress came over and took their orders. They both got burgers. As soon as she walked away, Stiles drummed his fingers anxiously on the table. “We took care of the spell, the unicorn should be back to slaughtering trespassers on its magical grove instead of trying to poison the entire west coast.”

“Oh.” Scott raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s great! Is the caster at Eichen House then?”

“No, not exactly...” Stiles trailed off and stared at the empty booth to the left of Scott. He picked up another length of straw wrapper and started to tear it into smaller and smaller pieces. “There was… we could only find one way to undo the spell in time. The unicorn was almost back to full strength and it was too dangerous to let things go any further.”

“What did you do?” Scott’s voice was quiet and accusatory, as if the reality of the situation had started to dawn on him. “Stiles, what did Peter force you to do?”

“The caster tried to kill me,” Stiles whispered. His hands stilled on the length of thin paper. “He tried to rip out my throat, Scott.” Faint pink marks were all that remained of the formerly gaping wounds. They’d be gone in an hour.

Tears threatened to prickle at the corner of Stiles’ eyes. “Chris and I, we didn’t know the caster was an alpha, not until he shifted. He had perfected the spell that changed the alignment polarity on himself, his eyes were blue. I thought he was just a killer until he shifted.”

The thin paper wrapper tore in half, right down the middle when Stiles pulled on it too hard. “He murdered his betas to taunt Peter, he knew we were onto him.” His hands were shaking and no matter how he tried to relax them, he couldn’t. It felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. “He nearly killed Peter, but Peter managed to rip out his heart like his unicorn had done to so many people.”

Stiles focused his gaze on a rip in the cushion of a booth. He couldn’t look at Scott, couldn’t dare face the betrayal that he had no doubt was plastered over his best friend’s face. “The unicorn gored Chris before the spell that corrupted it faded. He would have died but Peter bit him.” The waitress came back with their burgers and the greasy smell made Stiles’ stomach roll. 

“Why didn’t you talk to me about any of this?” Scott after a second that felt like ten thousand years. “I could have helped.”

Stiles laughed, it was a bitter sound. “Could have helped kill someone? Scott, when we went to find the caster last night, we knew we were going to kill him. The only thing Chris and I hadn’t known was that he was an alpha. We thought he was human.”

“But there could have been a diff—“

“A different way?” Stiles cut Scott off, sounding slightly hysterical. “What different way could there have been, Scott? I looked into this, Chris looked into it, Lydia looked into it. There was no better way, no way for us to make sure the caster didn’t continue corrupting supernatural creatures.”

He paused and picked sesame seeds off the top of his bun. “He had experimented on several others, they either died or barely survived. He was a murderer and he was too dangerous to stay out there.”

“And Peter wanted his power.” The accusation was thick in Scott’s voice.

“Chris and I, we figured the caster had an alpha under his control.” Bread tore under his fingernails as Stiles continued ripping off sesame seeds and crushing them between his fingers. “Why else would Peter have been interested in helping? He’s not altruistic, he’s not a good person. But at the end of the day, we thought that stopping the caster was worth the danger Peter getting the alpha spark again.”

He paused and took a sip of his coke, trying to figure out how to put words to his thoughts. “Peter kept denying that the caster had an alpha under his control. I guess he wasn’t outright lying, since the caster was an alpha. Either way, Chris and I went in with the assumption that if there was an alpha there, that they were weak and half dead like the other creatures the caster had experimented on.”

He had explained what had happened what felt like a million times. It didn’t make it easier. He still felt sick thinking about it.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Scott,” Stiles whispered. He felt a single tear trickle down his cheek. “If anything happens between you and Peter, I don’t want to have to hurt anyone in your pack.”

_ Your pack _ . Not our pack, not the pack. Scott’s pack wasn’t Stiles’ any longer. 

“I can just send Peter back to the grave and this can go back to normal,” Scott said. His voice was a low growl.

“You can’t do that, Scott.” The very idea made Stiles’ heart thunder in his chest. “I—“ he inhaled, trying to steady his heart’s beating and make his hands stop trembling. “If you attack him, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“He’s controlling you, Stiles.” The worry in Scott’s eyes made Stiles want to cry. He hated making anyone worry about him, especially Scott. “We can’t let him keep getting away with this shit, he’s too dangerous.”

“I know, it’s just— I just—“ Stiles paused. He couldn’t get the words he needed to say out. “He’s my alpha now, I can’t betray him. Even if he’s controlling and manipulating me, even if he’s dangerous, he saved my life. The caster tried to tear out my throat and Peter stopped him.”

Claws burst free from his nail beds, Stiles was powerless to stop them. “I don’t trust him, I’m furious with him. He nearly got me and Chris killed and I  _ know  _ he’s still hiding things from us. But he still saved my life and Chris’s life. I can’t turn around and stab him in his back.”

Scott stared at Stiles for a long while. Eventually he closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” he whispered. “We’ll figure something out, I know we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know how you read slowburn fics and you're just like god when will they finally bang? yeah that's me rn except instead of being the reader and thinking that, I'm the writer and thinking that LOL  
anyway I genuinely love stiles' and scott's friendship. like they care so much abt each other and it's really nice to see male friendships represented like that in a tv show, like them hugging each other and being so open abt loving each other is just chef's kiss. I say that as I put a massive wrench in their friendship in this fic lmao whoops


	10. Chapter 10

By the time Stiles was finished with school he had a massive headache and he felt sick to his stomach thanks to all of the smells and sounds he couldn’t block out. Trying to focus in class had been impossible while at the same time Finstock was rambling on about some comparison of lacrosse to economics, down the hall some dude was taking the most massive shit of his life.

It fucking sucked and Stiles wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with it again the next day.

Scott and Liam were covering for him at lacrosse practice, they had some story ready for Why Stiles wasn’t able to make it. It’s not like they really needed to, Stiles would never be too missed at practice, but it felt good that Scott was still on his side. Besides the obvious fear of him wolfing out, Stiles also just wasn’t entirely sure he could make it through an entire practice without passing out from overstimulation.

He had never been good at focusing before thanks to his ADHD and apparently getting the bite had done nothing to solve that. It just gave him a million new things to fight for his attention and he just wanted to shut it all off.

The rumble of the motor of his Jeep was enough to block out some of the noises of the outside world. Stiles rested his head on the steering wheel and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It would get easier, he knew on some level, but when would it get easier was the question. He didn’t want to fail all his classes because he was too busy listening to conversations and lectures halfway across the school.

Claws dug into the meat of his palms as he clenched his hands around the steering wheel and he hissed in pain. He had been good at keeping his claws in during the day but it was like as soon as he got to a semi-private spot he couldn’t hold himself in any longer. All of his pent up anger just came bursting free at once.

He was just so fucking mad. Even knowing the anger was irrational overblown thanks to the wolf in his brain freaking out, he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Every attempt he made to calm down just made himself get madder and madder. He was mad with Peter for putting him in a situation where he could get turned and he was angry with himself for not having prepared enough to avoid it.

Stiles forced himself to breathe in and out slowly, counting each breath. It was like calming himself down from an anxiety attack and he had plenty of practice with those. Thinking peaceful thoughts of cuddly bunnies hadn’t worked so the only thing left for him to do was to trick his body into calming down.

It took five minutes of breathing exercises to make his claws retract. Five painfully long minutes where every single noise of teenagers horsing around in the parking lot made him want to rip a hole in someone’s chest. 

As he pulled out of the high school’s parking lot, Stiles thought back to what Peter had said before they left to take down the caster. Stiles wanted to reason out the angry and violent side in him because that’s how he could really make himself feel better. If he could understand why things happened, he could find ways to make them not happen. Peter had said that it wasn’t the wolf side of werewolves that caused them to be cruel and violent, it was the human side. As he thought about it, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure that he agreed.

Like yeah, obviously humans were the fucking worst and loved coming up with new ways of killing each other, but Stiles had never felt particularly murderous for no reason. His threat to kill Jackson had only been half exaggerated, but Jackson had been killing people and was a gigantic dick. Peter in his pre-death alpha days had honestly deserved to die so Stiles didn’t mind his involvement in his death. As for the caster, the fucking claws that his nails could turn into were justification enough. But the thing that all of those had in common was that it was never anger that made him decide that  _ yes, death is acceptable here _ , there had always been something more.

But wanting to rip up teenagers having fun after school because he was unreasonably mad for no reason? That wasn’t Stiles. 

Peter had been right though, wolves didn’t kill for no reason. They hunted and killed to survive, they ate what they killed and didn’t kill unless they had to. He couldn’t claim to be an expert on how wolf brains worked but he didn’t think they would just get snarling mad and slaughter people out of nowhere.

Stiles growled low in his throat as some asshole in a tiny little sedan cut in front of him, nearly side swiping him. He fought back the fangs that tried to burst free of his gums and instead hammered on the horn. He didn’t need shitty asshole drivers making him want to commit felonies.

Maybe it was the human side of his brain mixing with the wolf side like oil and water. The two sides couldn’t understand each other so they freaked the hell out and just completely short circuited. He wasn’t exactly certain how anchors factored into his theory but he wondered if they were things that both halves of the brain could find unity with.

Like, Derek and Peter used anger as their anchors. Yeah, Peter’s grip on sanity wasn’t anything that could be held to the light as something rock solid and perfect, but he had near perfect control over himself. Peter’s wolf had to be furious over the death of his pack and despite the way Peter enjoyed feigning nonchalance, Stiles knew that his human side would never let go of the rage that was always just under his skin from the unjust slaughter of so many people. Derek was the same, but after meeting Braeden he seemed to rely on the anger less — Stiles assumed at least based on how Derek tended to smile just a little more often.

And that made Stiles think of Scott and Isaac. Allison had been an anchor for both of them at some point or another. He had heard way too fucking much and in more detail than he could stomach about how much Scott had loved her so it was safe to say his human side loved her. The wolf had seemed to be the same.

Stiles rubbed his eyes as he pulled into his driveway. His working theory seemed solid but it didn’t really help solve his underlying issue. All it did was point out to him how he really had nothing he could think about that would make the human and wolf brains in his head want to play nice.

Like yeah, he loved research but he doubted the overgrown dog in his head was fascinated by piecing together all of the aspects of a crime. He was mad at Peter for putting him in a situation where he ended up bitten but it was the sort of anger that made him want to sleep, not bring him control. He had nobody he was interested in really, his crush on Lydia had long since faded into an understanding that they were just genuinely much better as friends and Malia was unfortunately out of the question.

Maybe his desire to protect his dad? Stiles unlocked his front door and walked into his house. He slid his shoes off and frowned slightly. He loved his dad so much and would do pretty much anything to protect him. Wolves were big on the whole family thing so maybe that was something he could anchor on?

That was probably his best chance at finding an anchor in any reasonable timeframe. He didn’t know if platonic familial relationships made effective anchors but he was running pretty damn low on options. Like goddamn, Chris probably had more options for anchors than he did. His rage was probably the sort to energize him rather than make him want to crawl into bed for years. Or he could probably just fucking bully the wolf in his brain into leaving him the hell alone.

The image of Chris skipping uncontrollable werewolf garbage just by being one terrifying motherfucker made Stiles snort out a laugh. Now that he wasn’t watching his best friend (and also himself) have his life threatened by Chris, the levels of intimidation that the hunter could reach were funny to him.

Stiles grabbed a couple granola bars from the cabinet and sent a quick text to Scott.  _ Made it home w only minor wolfing out in my car so………success i guess? _ He added a few shrugging emojis for good measure. 

Honestly, even if he wolfed out in front of the entire school he still would have considered it a success as long as he didn’t kill anyone. It was a fairly low standard for control but at least it was a standard of some type.

Still, he needed to get full control sooner rather than later. It had taken damn near everything from him to keep his claws in during the school day and he knew that at some point, he’d slip up. So he typed up another text to Scott.

_ So w anchor stuff do u just think abt the person rly hard and then suddenly youre grounded again or what?? _

That’s what made sense to him but honestly, what the hell did he know? Literally all of this was based on his assumptions about how shit worked and he could have been way off base and in reality anchors were something magically decided by the werewolf gods the day you were bitten and then you just had to figure them out based on who made you feel slightly less murdery.

Ugh, the granola he was eating suddenly tasted like sand in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow and tossed the half a bar he had left away. What he needed was real answers and unfortunately, he lived in a ton of supernaturals and supernatural-adjacents who hated giving straight answers. Like Deaton probably knew exactly who the best anchor for him was but would make him fill out a hundred page packet and then give him a riddle that would lead him to his one true anchor, Derek would grunt and tell him to go ask Scott, and Peter would probably just smirk at him and wait for him to figure everything out himself.

But Stiles knew that at some point you just have to buckle down and realize that you’ve already made a deal with the devil so you should probably stick to the devil you know. Peter was a piece of shit who would have probably preferred getting stabbed hundreds of times over telling the whole truth in a clear and concise manner but Stiles figured that he could probably needle him into giving out the necessary info he needed on anchors. If anything, he had the  _ we’re pack so me wolfing out and going nuts endangers you _ card to play and he knew Peter was nothing if not incredibly self serving.

_ Im coming over & u better actually be helpful _ , he sent the text to Peter before he headed out.

——

Peter actually wasn’t home when Stiles got to his place. The door was locked shut and Stiles couldn’t hear any movement behind it. The lock wasn’t much of an issue, Stiles had it picked in under a minute, but for some reason he felt almost uneasy walking into Peter’s apartment without him there. Like okay yeah, Peter inadvertently got him turned into a werewolf so Stiles was entitled access to all of his shit, but it was just so damn weird having access to all of the proof that Peter Hale was more than a sociopathic zombie werewolf. 

Stiles tried to be a good person and not snoop around. That lasted for all of five seconds before he noticed one of the usually shut guest bedroom doors was open. He had no clue when Peter would be back since Peter never responded to his text and for all he knew, Peter was either five minutes away or left town for a mid week vacation. It wasn’t like he was going to get any answers until Peter was back — and even then, the chance that Peter would give him an honest answer was slim — so yeah, Stiles succumbed to his curiosity. 

He started with the room whose door was already slightly ajar. Peter seemed to be using it as an overflow room for his office. There was a bed but Stiles doubted it was used for anything but storing boxes and piles of books.

Curious, Stiles reached for one of the boxes and inspected the books inside of it. They were all various law texts from the early 2000s and late 90s. Peter had probably owned the books since before the fire, Stiles assumed. He wasn’t sure how long it took for those sorts of texts to go out of date, but he was pretty sure a book on criminal law in Northern California from 1996 probably wasn’t entirely relevant any longer. The ages of the books explained why Peter had boxed them away. 

Done with that box, Stiles started to look through another. The top of it had some more law books but when Stiles got past them he found some science fiction books from the 80s and 90s. A shit eating grin pulled at his lips, he hadn’t expected Peter to be a sci-fi nerd. 

The sci-fi box was infinitely more interesting to him than full law textbooks. Peter had a pretty serious collection of Asimov novels and Stiles briefly wondered if he’d notice if he took a few of them that he hadn’t read yet home with him. There were some other books that he was familiar with and all of the books in the box looked well used. There were still some sticky notes hanging out between pages.

Stiles laughed when he saw  _ Interview with the Vampire  _ and several other Anne Rice novels in the pile. He wondered if Peter actually enjoyed them or if he thought the inaccurate depictions of vampires were funny. Or maybe he just related to Lestat, they had a few personality traits in common. Namely that they were messy bitches who loved drama and couldn’t care less about humanity. 

If Peter was Lestat, he was probably Claudia, a thought that made him frown. Yeah, he was done with trying to compare his life to a vampire novel so he pushed those away and continued shuffling around books until he got to the end of the box. He ended up making a small pile of books that he was going to take home with him whether Peter approved of it or not. 

The next box was another mishmash of books, mostly nonfiction and biographies. He didn’t bother taking his time searching through that one, afraid that looking too hard would put him to sleep.

At least an hour had passed by the time Stiles had finished snooping through the books in the guest bedroom. Stiles’ pile of books that he was borrowing had grown by an entire box of expanded universe Star Wars novels and some well worn supernatural thriller novels. He hadn’t found really any tomes or grimoires in the boxes which mildly surprised him, but he supposed that they all might have gotten a spot on the bookshelf in Peter’s office.

Most things in the room seemed like they hadn’t been touched since Peter moved in and got everything sorted. Stiles wondered how Peter still had all those books honestly, he had assumed that everything Peter owned had been burnt up alongside the Hale house.

There was one last box in the room, it was shoved in a corner behind some framed landscape photos. Stiles moved them aside and peered in, expecting more books. To his surprise, there were no novels or biographies in there but it did hold a lot of family photos.

It was an odd, voyeuristic feeling, staring at the photos on the top layer. There was a candid shot of Peter holding a baby girl, he assumed Cora but he wasn’t sure, with Talia looking on. Both of them were smiling and looked so genuinely happy that Stiles could hardly believe that it was Peter he was looking at. The other photos on the top layer were a lot of family shots, some with Peter, some of his siblings and their families.

Stiles didn’t dig through that box. After a moment, he just shut the flaps and put the landscape photos back in front of it. Suddenly, digging through Peter’s stuff to see how he lived was much less fun. All of it made Peter seem much more like a real person than he had seemed before. He liked science fiction novels and had more books on the history of different regions in the world than most university libraries. Stiles doubted that Peter had ever been considered a healthy, normal person, but Stiles couldn’t shake the image of him holding his niece out of his head. There was no faking the affection that radiated from every inch of that photo.

So different from the Peter he knew. That was probably why Derek hadn’t banished him from Beacon Hills the moment he rose from the grave, he supposed. Derek was probably trying to find the uncle he had known in the callous and cruel man that Peter had become.

There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Peter had always had his violent and cruel streak. Peter himself had said that he was his pack’s enforcer, Talia’s left hand. He had been the one to take the unsavory but necessary actions needed to protect the pack. The fire had probably just stripped away everything from him down to his very core. At that core, Stiles knew, Peter was dangerous and took joy from taking debts he was owed in blood.

Still, as Stiles grabbed the box of Star Wars and various other books, he kept thinking about the box of photos. It made him uncomfortable enough to decide that he was done snooping for the afternoon. He wasn’t even sure how he could describe the discomfort, maybe it was how he couldn’t fully piece together Peter the Person and Peter the Monster and he didn’t like it. 

Stiles curled up on Peter’s couch and grabbed one of the Star Wars novels from the box. It was one he hadn’t read before and he figured that if he was done with snooping, he could kill time waiting for Peter to get back by reading. At least everything he saw had taken his mind off of his worries of anchors and control. He let himself sink into a world of Jedis and Siths, away from earthly werewolves and blood debts and revenge.

——

It was dark by the time Peter got back to his apartment, granted that meant it was only six thanks to it being late fall, but Stiles felt like it was much later. He had gotten halfway through the book, engrossed enough that he only noticed Peter was back when he heard the key twisting in the lock. 

Stiles looked up from the book and saw Peter frowning at him. He wasn’t wearing his usual jeans and v-neck, instead he was wearing some joggers and a crewneck. For the first time since Stiles had seen him back in sophomore year, Peter looked something other than perfectly put together. His hair wasn’t styled and beads of sweat still prickled at his hairline.

“Don’t you have homework to be doing?” Peter asked, still frowning. Stiles wished he understood what scents correlated to which emotions so he could figure out what Peter was really thinking.

“I texted you that I was coming over,” Stiles replied and shut the book, page marked with a post it so old that the adhesive had worn off. “You shouldn’t be surprised, not when you, you know, put me in a situation where I got bit by an alpha and now have to deal with the bullshit unreasonable anger and loss of control.”

“If you had decided to inspect the kitchen, you’d see my phone on the counter.” Peter’s eyes flicked towards the box on the ground next to Stiles and his frown deepened. “I was running in the Preserve and paws aren’t made for cell phones.”

Peter paused and ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I asked if you had homework that you should be doing rather than reading my books. I didn’t ask why you were here.”

Stiles snorted, entirely unimpressed. “Yeah, next time I’ll bring my homework over to your apartment when I need to ask you about the finer details of control and anchors. Maybe we can have a little study session and you can play the role of my calculus tutor.”

“I thought that I’ve already told you that I purged all the memories of calculus from my brain.” The corners of Peter’s lips twitched and Stiles let out a low, frustrated growl and felt claws prickle at the ends of his fingers. He knew Peter was playing coy with him and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Peter,” he warned.

Peter just smirked at him. “Let me take a shower first and then we can talk.”

Stiles clenched his fists and felt sharp claws cut deeply into flesh. He opened his mouth to give a sharp retort to Peter, but all that came out was just a nasty snarl. His body tensed and the unreasonable, irrational rage he had felt earlier that day in his Jeep came rushing back to him. His gums burned as he felt fangs burst free.

Peter’s smirk grew wider. He walked towards Stiles and pinched his jaw between two fingers. “So beautiful like this,” he murmured. When Stiles tried to jerk his head back, Peter’s grip tightened and his eyes flashed alpha red.

“Behave, sweetheart.” Peter stared into his eyes and Stiles couldn’t force himself to look away despite the way he was still snarling low in his throat. “You want to calm down? Listen to my heartbeat, focus on it, let it be the only thing you’re aware of.”

Peter’s voice had this quiet intensity to it and the wolf in his brain snapped to it. Even if Stiles the person wanted to protest and question, ask what the hell Peter was on about, he couldn’t, not with the way Stiles the wolf just immediately zeroed in on the steady sounds of Peter’s heart beating in his chest. It was unnerving, the lack of control that Stiles felt, Peter hadn’t even given him an actual order but his wolf was still chomping at the bit to do whatever he said. 

But Stiles couldn’t think about that, not while he felt his breathing and heartbeat slow down, matching Peter’s. It didn’t even take thirty seconds before he felt his claws and teeth returning back to their blunt, human shapes. Peter’s fingers were still on his chin and his eyes were still alpha red, but they were narrowed in clear amusement.

“You really are the perfect wolf, Stiles,” Peter said quietly. His voice had this note in it that Stiles almost thought was affection, if it had come from anyone but Peter, it would have clearly been affection. “My nephew and Scott both made mistakes in not claiming you for their own packs.” 

Peter nuzzled at him, scenting him and Stiles froze. He was equal parts disgusted, terrified, and, strangest of all, comforted. It wasn’t like it was the first time he was scented by a werewolf, close to full moons Scott and Malia especially liked to scent everyone. But Peter? Stiles had never seen him scent even Derek before, yet there he was, rubbing his sweat damp cheek against Stiles’ own with a satisfied sigh. The wolf in his brain was practically singing it was so excited and there was a low chant of  _ pack, alpha, pack, alpha _ going on in his brain.

His ability to match scents to specific people and things was still a work in progress, but Stiles thought he might have smelled Chris’s scent on Peter before Peter pulled away from him. His eyes were back to his human blue but they were still narrowed, clearly pleased. As Stiles stared back at him, he wondered if Peter had been spending time with Chris, working on his control, before he went off to run in the Preserve. It would explain why he smelled like the other man.

When Peter pulled away from him, Stiles let out a small whine despite himself. The fucking wolf half of his brain wanted nothing more than to just fucking climb on top of Peter and lay with his alpha. He was half glad Chris wasn’t there because there was no way in hell that his awful brain wouldn’t have been clamoring to pull them all together to just lay down in one massive pile. He needed to ask Scott how to restrain those urges before he had to go over to Peter’s place for nightly cuddle sessions, ugh.

Peter luckily didn’t comment on the small noise, he just let out an amused huff of air before he let go of Stiles’ chin.

“Can you behave yourself while I get a shower or do I have to tie you to the radiator?”

Stiles scowled, “It’s not the full moon, seeing as I hadn’t torn your apartment to shreds yet, I think I’m fine to wait for you to finish.”

“Just had to check,” Peter said with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He patted Stiles’ cheek before he turned around and started to walk over to his bedroom. “Oh, and Stiles? If you tell anyone about my book collection, I will rip every organ from your body slowly and painfully.”

——

Peter apparently decided that teaching Stiles control wasn’t a time sensitive matter. Not only did he take of the longest showers that Stiles had ever seen anyone take — from the time he left the living room to the time he returned, it was almost an hour — he also said that he needed to cook dinner before he could sit and think about everything a new wolf needed to learn. Stiles was half convinced it was a way for Peter to see how fucking annoyed he could get him before he snapped.

Hell, he was pretty certain that he would have snapped five minutes after Peter pulled out a frying pan if whatever he was cooking hadn’t smelled so damn good. Almost unconsciously, Stiles stood up from where he was laying down on the couch and walked over to the kitchen. He smelled browning meat and his fangs immediately burst free, stomach rumbling loudly and mouth watering. It was this primal need that rose up in him, he wanted to tear into the steaks Peter was cooking up, regardless of the amount they were cooked.

“Patience, darling pup.” Peter looked up at him and held up a hand, stopping Stiles from getting any closer to the stove. “I think you’ll find it’s better after I actually cook it.”

Stiles made an annoyed little noise, “Then at least fucking teach me how to not let this dog in my brain control everything.”

Peter huffed out a laugh and pushed Stiles back. “Just wait and I’ll teach you everything you need to know.” He flipped the steaks in the pan and Stiles wanted nothing more than to risk his fingerprints by pulling the hot meat from the pan. The only thing that stopped him was the tiny thread of self respect he had left.

“Sit down at the table, Stiles,” Peter said in the same low tone of voice he had earlier when he told Stiles to focus on the sound of his heart beating. The wolf didn’t follow orders as unquestioningly as earlier, not with the way that the red meat was right there, but Stiles still found himself perched on the edge of a chair and staring eagerly at Peter before he could fully question himself.

Peter hummed a low melody as he chopped up some mushrooms and onions to saute, quiet enough that if he were still human, Stiles wouldn’t have heard. It was odd, watching him be so domestic. It wasn’t like it was the first time Stiles had seen him cook, but it was still unnerving watching the way he moved around the kitchen like an actual person. He thought back to the photo in the box and wondered how often Peter had cooked for the family.

“You didn’t live in the Hale house, did you?” Stiles asked suddenly. 

The sharp knife paused in the air and Peter looked towards Stiles, frowning. “Why would you ask?”

“The books,” Stiles said slowly. “You had your own place and you were just over for something when Kate…” he trailed off.

Peter went back to chopping, the sound of the knife hitting wood louder than it had been before. “I had an apartment not too far from here but I spent a lot of time with my family, we all did. You’re comforted just by being here with me, your alpha, your pack. It was the same for me, for all of my family.”

Peter paused and pushed the chopped up onions and mushrooms into a smaller frying pan. The scent of them frying up didn’t send the same intense needy feeling through Stiles like the meat did, but he still had to wipe drool away from the corner of his mouth.

“Kate knew we’d all be there for a weekly family dinner — thanks to her taking advantage of Derek — Talia had made lasagne that night.” The breath he sucked in sounded wet to Stiles and a sudden sour scent rose up. “It was Cora’s favorite and she had just gotten on the honor roll. I had brought over dessert, chocolate cake, I was supposed to take her to the movies the next day.”

“Cora was your favorite, wasn’t she?” Stiles asked, still thinking of the photograph.

“She reminded me of me.” Peter shrugged and stared down at the cooking steaks. “She was going to be the next enforcer, Laura’s left hand, so I connected with her more so than my other nieces and nephews.” He looked up at Stiles and frowned slightly. “Despite what I did to Laura, I loved her too. But my mind and body were broken and she had abandoned me, left me alone while her and Derek were worlds away.”

“You wanted the power.”

Peter shrugged and turned the steaks again. “I always wanted to be an alpha but I hadn’t wanted to murder my niece.”

“Would you do it again?” Stiles asked quietly.

“In that state of mind? I would,” Peter said simply. “I needed her power to fully heal and for six years I was trapped in a body that barely functioned, stewing in my own mind, thinking how if I had been the alpha of the pack we would have never been burnt. In my ruined mind, Laura had betrayed me just like everyone else.”

He paused again and scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “But now I’m as sane as I’ve ever been and I doubt that I could kill her in this frame of mind. I want to protect my pack, I’d kill to protect my pack. I think even if you held some power within you that I would have to kill to take, Stiles, I couldn’t, not when every cell in my body screams at me to protect you and Christopher.”

The intensity in Peter’s eyes made Stiles uncomfortable. He didn’t want to think of what Peter considered a threat to his safety, didn’t want to think of the lengths he’d go to in order to neutralize the threat. “So do you regret killing her?” He asked, not wanting to prompt Peter to continue on his train of thought of protecting his pack.

“I regret that it was necessary.”

——

Stiles didn’t know how he ended up with his head on Peter’s lap while Peter slowly stroked his hair as the tv played softly in the background, but after he had ripped into his steak, he and Peter moved to the couch to discuss the finer points of control. Finer points that he apparently really needed seeing as he had willingly leaned against Peter’s shoulders and let Peter pull him into his lap. He wanted to burn with embarrassment, but he felt calmer than he had since he had been a child, sitting with his mom.

Fucking werewolf pack instincts.

“Your father would work as an anchor,” Peter said after Stiles had explained his working theory on what caused the emotional imbalance werewolves had and why anchors helped. “But it will take several months for you to really be able to control yourself.”

“I’m not expecting my first full moon to go off without a hitch, but I’m pretty sure that after that I should be pretty good if I know what my anchor is.”

Peter clucked his tongue and tugged at Stiles’ ear. “You’ve seen so many newly turned wolves by now, what makes you think you’re so different than them?”

He returned to slowly stroking Stiles’ hair, soft enough that it made Stiles’ eyes flutter shut. “Even if you’re able to rationalize everything about what causes the problems and able to think about how you should go about fixing every problem that comes up, that’s Stiles the human talking. Stiles the wolf isn’t rational, he doesn’t care about that reasonably you should be able to calm down because the person cutting you off in traffic is a dumbass but ultimately not a threat. He cares that that man put you in danger and threats should be culled. That’s the wolf’s sense of reason and it’s just as strong as the human’s.”

Peter paused and looked down at Stiles. “I agree with you that the reason werewolves have the emotional instability is because the wolf and the human sides of our brains don’t understand each other until they can find the common ground of an anchor. But right now, even if they both see that they have that common ground, they can’t agree to share it.”

“So what, I’m just gonna go nuts and take ages to calm down until my stupid fucking wolf agrees to share nicely?” Oh great, the burst of irrational anger again, as if he really needed more of it.

Peter’s hand moved from his hair to stroke his thumb along Stiles’ cheek. “Maybe you should let me finish talking first, sweet boy.” The touch of his finger was so light along Stiles’ flesh but he still felt goosebumps rising up where Peter touched. “I’m your alpha, I’m able to bring you back down when everything becomes too much for you.”

“Cool but I have school Monday through Friday and can’t exactly skip class every time I feel like I’m about to rip out some kid’s throat for walking too slowly in front of me.”

“You have a cell phone, you can just call me.” Peter looked down at him and flashed his teeth. “People have been using phone calls as a replacement of physical intimacy for decades.”

Stiles made a face in disgust, “I’m not having werewolf phone sex with you.”

Peter laughed loudly. “What, you don’t want me telling you exactly how you should be touching yourself?” He narrowed his eyes and smirked. “Color me surprised.”

Stiles sputtered and tried to move off of Peter, but a strong arm kept him pinned in place. “Seriously dude? Could you try and not make everything creepy for once in your undead life?”

“And miss out on your reactions?” Peter grinned. “I’ll pass on that, but you were the one who thought of phone sex.”

“Yes, entirely on my own.” Stiles rolled his eyes and scowled at Peter. “Now how about you try and actually be helpful here so I don’t wolf out in the middle of class.”

“Calling me was a serious suggestion, Stiles. If you’re having control issues, then you just call me and let me talk you down from it. Listening to my heartbeat is the easiest way, but I’m sure that I can come up with something else for you to focus on.” Peter’s thumb stilled on his cheek and Stiles stared up at him. “Since telling you all of the ways I’d ruin you is apparently out of the question, I guess I could just count from ten until you’re finally able to interact with the common masses once again.”

Don’t rise to the bait, Stiles had to keep reminding himself that. So he ignored the unhelpful tidbit Peter just had to fucking add in there. “And if it doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work.” Peter began to stroke his cheek again and Stiles absolutely melted into the touch. Despite the way the rational side of his brain was screaming he’s a murderer, he’s dangerous, he’s Peter, the wolf in his brain was just a puddle thanks to all of the physicality Peter was showing him. “You’re the perfect beta for me, Stiles, and I take care of my betas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scenting and werewolves being massively weak for cuddles are two of my favorite things honestly... like pls just let packs all have cuddle sessions after stressful situations.  
anyway, stiles just admit that you want peter to have phone sex with you lbr


	11. Chapter 11

Control was something Stiles continued to have a tenuous relationship with as the days passed. He managed to not wolf out in the middle of class, but more often than not Malia had to force him down to the boiler room the moment the final bell rang for the day. It was then that he’d lose control, as if the wolf was making up for all the time it had been forced back in the day. Scott had been there the first time but it turned out having an alpha who wasn’t his own there just made things worse. 

Yeah, he could have called Peter. Every time he felt the twinges of rage build up in his chest, Peter’s words rang in his head. The reminders that if he just called his alpha and listened to his voice, the irrational rage would start to dissipate. But to Stiles, it felt like an admission that he couldn’t control himself.

He also didn’t want to give Peter the ability of being the only one to bring him back from the precipice of instability. That was dangerous, more leverage for Peter to have over him.

He’d have asked Chris, but he wasn’t sure how well he was hanging on. The answer was probably either the extreme of barely restraining himself from ripping apart everyone in his apartment complex or its partner, fucking fantastic thank you, I’m Christopher Argent and I have everything under control by my sheer force of will. Either way, Chris would doubtlessly have been unable to help bring him back to his senses.

So, with Scott and both of his, ugh, his packmates out of the option, Malia became the one to keep watch over him in the boiler room with Scott and Isaac waiting outside. That was the situation he found himself in, nearly two weeks after he had been bitten. 

Stiles’ claws dug deep gouges into the concrete wall and he snarled at Malia. He could hear the pounding of feet and the loud, excited noises of teenagers leaving school for the weekend. It drove him nuts, the wolf in his brain interpreting it as the noises of prey and the human screaming as his senses were overloaded by all of the noise. 

It was worse that day, maybe because he had been subjected to it for four other days before, maybe because it was nearly the full moon, and Stiles felt damn near feral. He was so close to snapping, felt the urge to rend flesh from bone until the overwhelming noises stopped. The only thing that held him back was the way he forced himself to focus on the sound of the erratic beat of Malia’s heart.

He wanted to make a joke about how the tables had turned since he had been the one to keep watch over her during the full moons. The problem was that every time he opened his mouth, all that came out was a nasty snarl. He felt like he had next to no control over his body. The wolf wasn’t in control but neither was he.

It was like a full bodied reaction to the sensory overload and Stiles was helpless to stop it. He couldn’t even slow down his breaths to try and ease himself out of the state he was in. Malia said something but Stiles couldn’t parse it, it was like her voice was distorted through five different filters.

Stiles’ lips peeled back from his teeth as his snarl intensified. He knew that he was in his full beta shift, he could feel the prickle off hair that sprouted from his cheeks. He wanted to tell Malia to get out, that he was about to snap. The snarl said that without needing him to speak, but Malia still stayed, matching his snarl with one of her own. She was trying to get him to back down.

It probably would have worked any day earlier that week. He had found out pretty early on that his wolf was easy to bully down into submission and that Malia was great at it. But right then? It wasn’t his wolf in control, wanting to hunt down all of the vulnerable humans making prey-like screeches. No, it was every single cell of his body protesting the noise, the humans, the not-pack-wolves and not-wolf-girl, and the way he was trapped away from the sky and the stars and the moon.

Malia yelled out some words that Stiles could hardly understand. He heard  _ Scott _ ,  _ Peter _ , and  _ dangerous _ , but that was it. All of his attention went away from trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying towards the way she took her gaze off of him for the briefest of moments. Vulnerable, that’s what his mind screamed. He clenched his clawed fingers into his palms to keep himself from lunging.

His hands felt sticky and wet from some combination of sweat and blood. He made himself focus on that and the sharp feeling of claws scraping against bone. It didn’t do much to bring him back down to a human level, but it kept him from lunging for Malia’s throat.

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Malia could and would kick his ass. The problem was that with how fucking far gone he was, he wouldn’t stop when he knew he lost. If he started to go after Malia, he would try ripping her throat out. Her control was so much better than it had been but put up against a feral beta going for her throat? She’d kill him before her rational side could kick in.

Malia took a step backwards, eyes locked on Stiles. She said something in a low voice, hands raised like she was trying to calm a cornered animal. The light of the boiler room glinted off of the tips of claws and Stiles’ eyes focused on those as she took another step back.

Watching her retreat was harder than anything else. Stiles wanted to chase after her, he didn’t see her as Malia, as his friend, he just saw that she was running away from him. The predator in him thrashed around and screamed, it wanted to knock her down and taste still warm blood on his tongue. 

Stiles clenched his fists tighter and used the pain of his claws ripping through a delicate tendon to keep himself still. 

Had it been this difficult for Scott? Stiles didn’t think so, maybe on the night of the full moon, but not in the middle of the day. He didn’t know if it was something wrong with him or if he was simply better at bottling up the wolf than Scott had been. Unlike Scott, he didn’t wolf out at lacrosse practice, of course Scott hasn’t freaked the fuck out as soon as school was over for the day either. But still, he was gonna assume that he maybe had better control over things, if only to keep his own sanity. 

The biting pain of his claws tearing apart his hands managed to let him have control long enough to let Malia get out and presumably start panic planning with Scott and everyone. But as soon as the door was shut, Stiles let his fists unclench and the flesh start to knead back together. He let out a furious howl and slammed a fist into the concrete wall behind him, feeling parts of it it crumble to dust from the impact.

Without a beating heart in reachable range, the bloodlust abated. He didn’t feel the urge to rip apart the steel door so he could chase the easy targets of oblivious teenagers. That was good at least. Not so good was the way that his anger still didn’t subside.

Not feeling murdery? Fantastic, really it was a gigantic improvement! Wanting to tear apart everything that he could see just because it had the gall to exist within his field of vision? Yeah, that was pretty fucking terrible. 

Still, he could deal with shredding some steel with his claws if it meant he that he wasn’t doing the alternative of shredding flesh. Even if the rage wasn’t subsiding, Stiles knew that Malia and Scott were working on something to bring him back down. He let himself lose himself to the anger and need to destroy, too damn exhausted to keep fighting. 

Time didn’t exist in any clear form in his crazed, mostly feral state. Maybe hours had passed or maybe it had been only minutes or even seconds. All he knew was the overwhelming urge to rip apart everything he could see. Every noise that made its way down to the boiler room set off fresh waves of rage, battering down any other thought.

The noise of the door opening had him baring his teeth and roaring out a snarl. Two heartbeats entered the room before the door was once again shut. Their scents were familiar, but he couldn’t focus on that or even their faces long enough to recognize them. Not with the way that the irrational rage clouded his thoughts. All he could focus on was the fact that they were there, intruding on  _ his _ space. 

Stiles took a step towards the two intruders and his loud snarl morphed into a low, rumbling growl, one that was matched by them. Claws strained at the ends of his fingers and he felt the compulsive urge to soak them with blood. It was not an instinctive desire for hunting, nor was there any human reasoning behind it. It was just pure, irrational bloodlust. 

When he lunged he was immediately knocked to the ground by a rough hand. He attempted to scramble back to his feet but he got about as far as digging his claws into the concrete floor before there was sharp pressure on the back of his neck, scruffing him almost. Blood trickled down the sides of his neck where sharp claws pierced the thin skin.

Thrashing didn’t get him anywhere, it only got him shoved roughly against the concrete and he felt his lip split before quickly healing. The pain gave him a brief moment of clarity, long enough for him to realize it was Chris holding him down but not long enough for him to form any words or stop himself from trying to rake his claws across Chris’s throat. 

But the angle was awkward and Chris was fast, benefited by years of training and a clearer mind than Stiles. Just like his lunge, he was stopped before he got anywhere. The bones of his wrist snapped, Chris’s grip around it inhumanly strong. He howled in agony as his bones tried knitting themselves together yet Chris’s crushing grip stopped any progress with that.

“I thought I told you to call me when it became too much.” Peter’s voice was cold and disapproving as he knelt in front of Stiles and pinched his jaw between two clawed fingers. “Yet here you are, enough of a mess that I’m seriously considering telling Christopher to follow his hunter training before you slaughter half of the town since you’re either too proud or too stupid to come to me for help before you’ve lost your damn mind.”

Stiles snarled and all he got for it was clawed fingers digging deeper into his skin.

“Malia isn’t your anchor, neither is she your alpha or even your pack, Stiles. She can’t pull you bring you back from the brink.” Peter shook Stiles’ chin and scowled. “I’m sure you realized today that you would have killed her — or at least tried to.”

The part of Stiles that wasn’t feral was offended by that. Of fucking course he knew that, but Malia was someone he trusted and cared about, not to mention that he had done the same to her back when she was still struggling to control herself. Yeah, what had happened today was bad and he nearly snapped on her, but every other day they had done this, she had brought him back down to Earth.

Of course, he couldn’t vocalize those thoughts. All he did was let out another nasty snarl. Lovely, that really was just a fantastic help in proving literally any of his points.

“I didn’t tell you that you needed to call me when you were losing control because I got off on it.” Peter narrowed his eyes and they flashed alpha red, cutting the snarl off in Stiles’ throat and it was replaced by a low whine. “Do you want me to start using my control over you as your alpha like I did with Scott?” He asked, voice quiet and dangerous. “I can take away your will and make you answer to my every beck and call like a puppet, and I won’t hesitate to do that if you continue to put yourself and others at risk.”

It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. Stiles knew that and the ease in which Peter said it sent a cold shiver down his spine. It was a reminder that Peter wasn’t a delicate, sweet, caring alpha. This was the same man who killed his niece for power and went on a revenge fueled killing spree. Yeah, he hadn’t been exactly sane at the time, but it’s not like he had gotten those thoughts out of nowhere, implanted by a foreign being.

At the end of the day, Peter was ruthless and would eliminate threats. Stiles was his pack but Stiles was suddenly fearful that Peter would do anything to prevent him from being a threat. When he wasn’t, Peter would treat him sweetly and let him invade his apartment, just to let him lay on his lap and pet his hair, but that only went so far. He wasn’t Scott, he wasn’t Derek, he wasn’t an alpha who would let his betas put him at risk.

That sobering thought started to make the irrational anger lessen. It wasn’t enough to bring him all the way back down, but he felt the planes of his face start to shift back towards normality. The claws and fangs stayed, but it was progress.

Peter shared a look with Chris before Stiles felt the claws on his chin melt back into blunt human nails. Despite that, the firm pressure on his neck didn’t lessen, nor did Peter let go of his chin. Peter’s eyes still glowed an overpowering alpha red as he looked back at Stiles. “I’m taking you and Christopher to a spot in the Preserve where we’ll spend the full moon.” His tone left no room for debate. 

——

The drive to the Preserve was quiet. It had taken an hour and a half after Peter’s threat for Stiles to fully come back down to normal. It still hadn’t been enough for Peter to declare him safe to drive, so Peter had left in Chris’s Tahoe and forced Stiles to give the keys to his Jeep to Chris.

“Is he controlling you?” Stiles asked quietly, he was tugging at his seatbelt with anxious fingers as he stared out the window, away from Chris.

Chris was silent for a moment before he shook his head and slowly said, “He’s not controlling me, no.” He stared out the windshield, at the gravel road that was barely illuminated by the setting sun. “You should have asked me for help, Stiles.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “And what should I have done if you were struggling worse than me?” His fingers tightened around his seatbelt. “I was handling it.”

“You nearly attacked Malia. If that’s handling it to you, I don’t want to see what your definition of losing control is.”

Stiles scowled. “You sound like Peter.”

It was Chris’s turn to laugh sourly. “I don’t like him, Stiles, but sometimes I agree with him. If I was the same man I was two years ago, there would have been a bullet between your eyes in the boiler room.” Werewolf hearing let Stiles just barely hear the wet noise of Chris’s inhale. “You need to accept help, either from me or from Peter. I’ve swallowed my pride, you need to as well.”

“I’ve already asked Peter for help, my pride is pretty much nonexistent at this point,” Stiles grumbled. “But I also managed to not wolf out in class at all, I’ve been doing  _ fine _ .”

Chris snarled loudly and slammed on the brakes. He turned to Stiles and his eyes were killer blue. “You were  _ not fine _ ,  _ Stiles _ ,” he snarled in a damn near scream. “Do you know what I saw in that boiler room? A feral monster who would have slaughtered a countless number of kids if he didn’t have the friends that he did.”

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but Chris cut him off before he could. “ _ No _ , those friends don’t count as you having everything under control.” Claws prickled at the ends of Chris’s fingers and every line of his body was taunt. “You need to ask for help before you fucking kill someone.”

“ _ I’m afraid. _ ” Stiles slammed his hand down on the car door and he let his breath out in a furious huff. “I’m goddamned terrified right now, Chris. I’m terrified of Peter using me, I’m terrified of hurting someone, I’m terrified of asking you for help and finding out that you couldn’t even help yourself.” He broke off with a half sob and his claws dug into his palms. “Being a werewolf was supposed to be Scott’s thing, not mine. Now I’m here with Peter as my alpha and everything about this is terrifying.”

Peter had been so damn kind to him when he had gone over to his apartment and that was scarier than staring down the corrupted unicorn as it slaughtered people. Stiles struggled to put together the kind, human Peter he had begun to see come out with the Peter he had come to know, the one who would slaughter anything that stood in his way and didn’t seem to care about who he hurt. 

Stiles hated being so confused and afraid.

Killer blue eyes faded, replaced with normal, pale blue. “Stiles…” Chris started softly. The concern that colored his features was plainly evident. He reached over and placed a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s scary, I’ve been staying in the Preserve, where we’re going, because I can’t trust myself in the apartment with Allison. I’ve always been so good at compartmentalizing, at controlling my emotions, but now?” He broke off with a sardonic laugh. “I shifted today because there was an injured deer that was just outside the perimeter of the house. I nearly broke my fucking arm trying to get at it.”

Chris ran his free hand down his face. “It’s humiliating, being so out of control. But Peter’s been…” he trailed off with a frown and the sound of him anxiously scratching at his scruff was loud. “He’s been surprisingly helpful.”

“He’ll be great and helpful, cuddling with you and scenting you until he threatens to kill you if you lose control,” Stiles said bitterly. “Kill you, or even worse, make you into his puppet.”

“Are you surprised?” Chris asked. His hand was still on Stiles’ shoulder, but he started to put the Jeep back into drive, gravel crunching under the tires. “You put a countless number of people at risk if you lose control.” His eyes were focused on the road in front of him as he spoke. “I’m not staying at the Preserve because I enjoy cabins that have been abandoned for years or because I want to spend all of my free time with Peter. I’m there because I can’t trust myself.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Chris was brilliant and always so in control, hearing him admit to being afraid of himself was awful. In some small way it was comforting to Stiles, knowing he wasn’t alone in his struggling, but it was largely, overwhelmingly terrible. He just wanted all of it to be over already, for him to go back to his normal everyday life without having to worry that he was going to accidentally wolf out in class because one of his bullies went a little too far.

Chris slowed the Jeep to a stop as they approached a set of twin headlights in the dark. They were pretty deep into the Preserve and Stiles was pretty certain there were no cabins anywhere near them. It was just forest for acres and acres. But he doubted this was all an elaborate attempt to lure him to the forest and murder him. Mostly because that wasn’t Chris or Peter’s styles.

Nah, if they wanted him dead, it would have happened in the boiler room.

That was little comfort as Stiles stepped out of his Jeep into the silent Preserve. His breath formed clouds in front of him in the cold air but despite the temperature and his light clothes, he wasn’t chilled. Another reminder of his curse, he supposed.

The headlights of the Tahoe shut off as Peter walked in front of it. He had a cardigan on that he hadn’t been wearing earlier and his eyes reflected the glow of the Jeep’s headlights in the way only animal eyes did. His hands were in the pockets of his cardigan and his lips twitched into a vague smirk. “Took you long enough.”

“We had to take a break to have a little conversation,” Chris grunted. He locked the Jeep and tossed the keys back to Stiles who managed to catch them with only a little fumbling. “But we’re good now, right?” He looked towards Stiles with the sort of expectant look that didn’t take no as a correct response.

“No need to strip me of my free will and turn me into your little werewolf puppet,” Stiles said with a painful layer of fake cheer. The fake cheer wasn’t as convincing as it could have been, mostly thanks to the glare he directed towards Peter.

Peter very purposefully ignored him and turned to Chris. “I didn't really want to have to trek through the forest and force Stiles through the distractor spell in the dark, so I really hope the conversation was worth it.”

“Distractor spell?” Stiles asked, despite himself. He ended up cutting off Chris’s attempt to snark back, but sue him, he was curious.

“Mountain ash can keep a supernatural being trapped physically.” Peter started walking off of the gravel road and into the trees, leaving Chris and Stiles to follow. Chris never strayed too far from Stiles, always there with a hand to steady him because apparently being a werewolf didn’t fully solve his lack of grace.

“But a distractor spell? It can keep anything trapped mentally.” Peter didn’t turn around but Stiles could head the grin in his voice, thrilled and amazed by magic even if it had been a part of his life since birth. “You can break through a distractor spell, sure, but the beauty of it is that most people wouldn’t even notice it. Say there’s a bar of gold wrapped in a distractor spell. You’re told it’s sitting on the coffee table, you might have even placed it there yourself. When you’re told to grab it, you think, oh that’s easy.”

Peter paused and looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting in the fading light. “What happens when you go to grab it?”

Stiles thought for a moment. “You forget what you were doing?”

The corners of Peter’s lips tugged with a smirk. “You pick up the remote next to it, when you inspect the coffee table you don’t even notice the bar of gold there. It’s not invisible but your mind just fills in the spots it skips over with what’s around it.”

“It messes with all of your senses, not just sight,” Chris added in. “The deer this morning shouldn’t have been able to get in the perimeter of the yard but it was so sick that its senses were already fucked up beyond belief.” He grabbed Stiles’ upper arm when Stiles nearly fell face first after tripping on a root he didn’t notice.

“It disrupting senses is why my family set up this cabin years and years ago. When wolves in the pack struggled with the full moon, usually younger born wolves experiencing their first shifts or newly bitten wolves, we’d place them here with others in the pack to watch over them.” Peter leaned down under a low hanging branch, Chris helped Stiles avoid getting a face full of pine needles from the same branch. “It turns out that distractor spells are just as good as keeping you in as keeping you out. Unless you’re given a pass in the wards, like  _ moi _ .”

“Did Deaton set it up?” Stiles asked, he had never heard of distractor spells before and now he was thoroughly interested. 

“My great uncle did, actually,” Peter said as he shook his head. “I told you, werewolves can still do magic. This is a type that doesn’t just target supernaturals like a lot of Druid magic does, so it’s a spell we’re capable of handling.”

“How does casting it work?” Stiles managed to step over a root without impaling himself on a fallen branch right after it. Of course, because he was so focused on that, he nearly walked right into Peter’s back as the other man stopped in his tracks.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Stiles swore.

“I’ll teach you how to cast a distractor spell if you can get through this one.” Peter stepped aside and motioned forward. Stiles looked towards him, then at Chris who looked grimly amused in his own Chris Argent way.

“So I just walk through the magic curtain, fighting every instinct, and then suddenly there’s a big ol’ cabin?” 

“That’s the general theory,” Peter said, cocking a brow. “It’s pretty difficult, though.”

“Literally everything in my life right now is difficult.” Stiles took a step forward, focusing on a weird tree he saw in the distance. There was no magical resistance stopping him, it didn’t feel like he was walking into a wall of magic. So he took another step, then another, eyes still locked onto the same tree. 

He walked maybe fifty yards and then he paused. Then he looked around, Peter and Chris weren’t directly behind him, they were actually in front of him.

“What the fuck?” Stiles closed the distance between him and the two older men. “Did you move?”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Peter asked, eyes narrowed in amusement.

Stiles opened his mouth and then he closed it again. What he was looking fo—

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Stiles said again, he snapped his head around, the weird tree he was focused on was still in the same spot it had been, in front of him maybe one hundred yards. Until Peter had said the words, he had totally forgotten that he was supposed to be looking for the cabin. 

“When you figure out how to get past that without me, I’ll teach you how to set up one,” Peter smirked and grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck and Chris’s upper arm. 

He started walking, pulling Stiles along and the more steps he took, the more Stiles’ insides squirmed. When he walked on his own, he hadn’t felt anything. He just put one foot in front of the other like usual, yeah that meant he ended up walking in a gigantic circle but he hadn’t felt this wrongness.

“I think we’re going the wrong way,” Stiles said nervously, eyes darting around. “Like I’m pretty certain I just saw one of those bear traps from when Mr. Tate was trying to catch coyote Malia.” He was certain that they were surrounded by them.

Sweat beaded on Chris’s brow and the muscles of his arms tensed. “I think Stiles is right, Peter the cabin is half a mile north, not over here.”

Peter clucked his tongue and tightened his grip around Chris and Stiles. “The spell will pass in fifty yards. There’s no bear traps, trust me sweethearts.”

Stiles unsuccessfully tried to wiggle free of Peter’s grip. “Peter, you’re  _ wrong _ , this is dangerous. The ground’s unstable here, there’ve been sinkholes in this area before and we’re right in the middle of the problem zone.”

“I will knock you unconscious if you don’t stop fighting me, both of you,” Peter snapped and forced them to take another few steps. Chris was actively trying to break free of Peter’s grip, a lot more successfully than Stiles since he had decades of hunter training on top of werewolf super strength. 

Peter snarled and Stiles smelled blood as his claws pierced the muscle of Chris’s upper arm. “Focus on  _ me _ , not the ground, not where we’re going. Think about nothing but me.”

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to focus on Peter, not when every cell in his body was screaming  _ wrong, wrong, wrong  _ at him. He felt fangs poke out of his upper teeth as his body revolted. There was nothing but forest for miles and miles ahead of them, there was no cabin. Peter was lying, there was nothing over here besides a shallow grave for him and Chris.

Peter was going to slaughter him and then slaughter the McCall pack, finally free to take over Beacon Hills.

The seeds of panic planted in his head had fully taken over. He let out a howl as he felt his body shift and clawed fingers scraped at the firm muscle of Peter’s forearm. He needed to be free, to get away. He needed to warn Scott and Derek. Peter was dangerous, he was going to—

There was a cabin in front of him, lawn perfectly manicured, flowers on the bushes blooming and beautiful despite the season. The panic cleared from his mind in an instant and his body began to shift back.

“I fucking hate that spell,” Chris groaned and fell to his knees, face pale and damp with sweat. Stiles could hear the loud thumping of his heart as he took deep, slow breaths. “I get why it’s there, but I fucking hate it.”

“And that’s a distractor spell,” Peter said, raking his eyes over Stiles, inspecting every inch of him for panic or fear or something. “Even when you’re mad with the full moon, you won’t be able to escape this area and hurt anyone.” He took a few steps forward and leaned against a birdbath because of course the Hales needed to have a fancy birdbath in their hidden place where they hid away the wolves that were too dangerous. 

“Now,” he said and inspected his nails in the fading light. “We’ll have some dinner and then I’ll start working on control under the moon’s influence with the two of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone has an incredible Christmas! I'm looking forward to it tomorrow uwu  
I realized that I've officially become a boring adult when my christmas list was a kitchenaid mixer and an instantpot, but hey, that shit's dope and I'm gonna use the hell out of them (provided i get them LOL). I also asked for a leather jacket for a birthday/christmas present (my birthday's on new years lol, gonna be 24 boiiiiii) but I highkey doubt my parents would buy one of those for me, rip, my dreams of dressing like a greaser from the 50s mixed with the villain of a western film who's also a vampire are dashed HAHA  
anyway! hope you enjoyed the chapter and will have a good Christmas :)


	12. Chapter 12

So every alpha had their way of teaching control. At least they all did on some level; Scott had Stiles throwing lacrosse balls at him until he could handle the rage without shifting, Derek just beat the shit out of his betas until they could control themselves, and as for Peter…

Well, Peter sat back and watched as the full moon crept into the sky and Chris and Stiles began their shifts. He had made absolutely no attempt to tie the two of them down or restrain them in any way whatsoever.

“This is two acres of land that you can’t escape from, that’s the restraint I’m putting on you,” Peter said when Stiles asked. 

Which, okay yeah that kept them away from the general population of Beacon Hills, sure. The only, teensy-weensy issue there was the fact that Stiles was pretty certain he and Chris were going to murder each other. And by murder each other he meant Chris was going to murder him and maybe have a couple of claw marks that would quickly heal to show for it.

Stiles spat out a mouth full of dirt and realized that he had been far, far too kind to Scott when the way he worked on control with him was by throwing lacrosse balls at him.  _ Yeah _ , he thought as Chris pulled him up by his shirt collar and slammed him against a tree, snarling all the while,  _ lacrosse balls had been way too fucking nice. _

“You feel that fury?” Peter called, voice far too casual and amused for the situation. The situation being Chris had Stiles pinned to the tree with his forearm against his throat and was busy seeing just how many times he could punch Stiles in the stomach before he vomited, or his spine broke, or maybe his stomach exploded. “Hold onto it and control it, don’t let it control you.” 

Christ, next he was gonna tell Stiles to let the hate flow through him.  _ Thanks, Palpatine, very helpful! _ Stiles wanted to call out, but that was pretty hard to do with the way his fangs were currently wrapped around Chris’s forearm. 

Chris yowled in pain as he shook Stiles off, fangs trailing deep marks in the flesh. Stiles spat out a mouthful of blood, met Chris’s eyes, and bared his fangs. Chris snarled back, arm already knitting itself back together.

Meanwhile, Peter looked like all he needed was some popcorn and he’d have his Saturday night entertainment perfectly sorted out. It pissed Stiles off on a bone deep level, enough that he turned away from him and started bolting towards Peter, ready to teach him a les—

Chris tackled him and slammed his face against the ground. Stiles ended up biting his lower lip and felt it hanging loose against his chin, trailing blood across his face. The lawn was nicely manicured and softer than a gravel path, but even soft grass could break a nose if said nose was being slammed into it again and again by a highly trained former hunter with super strength. 

Stiles tried to scramble and free himself, but Chris was a heavy weight on his back and his claws dug deep into the thin skin of his scalp. He snarled and thrashed, lip slapping wetly against his teeth and skin. His claws gouged deep lines into the dirt and he really wished that it was someone’s chest they were sunk into.

Stiles threw an elbow up and managed to hit Chris in the side with it, drawing out a grunt from him. It didn’t dislodge the other man, but Stiles followed up the elbowing with a swift turn to the side and suddenly, Stiles was on top of Chris, straddling his chest.

He snarled loudly and started pummeling Chris with fast, hard punches. His knuckles bled from where he scraped them against Chris’s sharp fangs, but Chris’s nose was bleeding more as Stiles felt it crunch beneath his fists. He roared in victory, finally the one on top. But that time was short lived as Chris dug his claws into Stiles’ side and threw him off. 

Chris stood up and wiped the blood that dropped from his nose his mouth with the back of his hand. Some dark part of Stiles twinged in arousal at that and he didn’t want to think about what it said about him. He  _ really  _ didn’t want to think about how that same dark part wanted to see Peter doing the same.

Stiles pulled himself off the ground and he and Chris circled each other. His lip was starting to heal, flesh and muscle knitting itself together until there was not even a single scar to show for the way it had limply hung. But his mouth still tasted like copper and the blood was all he could smell. It was maddening, the way the smell of blood, even his own, made his anger and rage sharpen into a fine point.

It was a weapon, yes, but it wasn’t one Stiles could ever see himself controlling the way Peter did. It was a scalpel, the way Peter wielded his rage, fine and precise yet so profoundly dangerous Stiles still hard a hard time grasping. But Stiles’ rage was unwieldy and uncontrollable. If Peter’s rage was a precise scalpel, his was a gigantic sword from an anime.

There was no harnessing his rage to anchor himself, not for Stiles, probably not for Chris, either.

Stiles lunged for Chris and got a knee to his chest for it. The rational part of his brain was horrified by the way he and Chris were going at it, how Peter was content to sit and watch them duke it out. But that part was small, even smaller than it had been in the boiler room at school when he had been out of his mind. The full moon’s influence was so fucking strong.

Stiles lashed out with his claws and tore long lines down Chris’s face, splitting open his lips and stretching down his throat to his collarbone. The blood that welled up sent Stiles soaring and he let out a low, pleased snarl at the sight. 

Chris’s answering snarl was much less pleased and he grabbed Stiles’ head in a clawed hand and slammed it against a tree. Stars blossomed in Stiles’ eyes as his skull was bashed against the hard wood again and again. 

A new snarl entered the mix and Stiles watched with half shut eyes as Peter grabbed Chris and threw him off of Stiles. He slumped to the ground, rage forgotten in the pounding agony of his head, and watched as Chris and Peter squared up. 

Chris was fully in his beta shift, fangs longer than even a shifted Peter’s and, hell, he looked nearly as monstrous as Peter did in a beta shift. But Peter only had his claws out and his eyes glowed the crimson that only an alpha’s eyes could become. 

“You feel that fury inside of you? How hot it’s glowing?” Peter asked, voice so quiet Stiles could hardly hear it over the blood rushing in his ears, working overtime to fix the fractures all along his cheekbone and ocular bone. His skull felt like it had been bashed to pieces. “Forge it into a blade, Christopher, and turn it on yourself.”

“I’d rather turn it on you.” Chris spoke in a growl, his usually rough voice sounded like someone had taken a cheese grater to his vocal cords. Electric blue eyes were focused on Peter, watching every tiny twitch of muscles.

Stiles knew that he was dangerous as a werewolf, he was uncontrollable and untrained. Even as a human, he had been scrappy and unpredictable in a fight. But Chris and Peter? Stiles felt like he was watching two forces of nature slowly circle each other, feeling for any weakness. Chris was maddened under his rage from the full moon yet under all of that, he was a trained killer. He had been one decades before Stiles was even born.

Peter, on the other hand, had been born a wolf. He might not have had decades of training as a hunter, but he had been Talia Hale’s enforcer a lifetime ago. He had an eye for finding weaknesses and exploiting them. 

Chris snarled low in the back of his throat and the wolf in the forefront of Stiles’ mind cowered in submission. Chris might not have been an alpha but his wolf damn well was trying to become one.

Peter gave an answering roar, one loud enough that Stiles winced in pain, sensitive hearing still unused to noises as loud and close as the roar. If Chris had been like Stiles, he would have been on his knees, chin raised and throat bared.

But Chris wasn’t Stiles. Stiles had always fought against authority and challenged it yet eventually, he’d back down, but Chris was used to  _ being _ the authority. He wasn’t the type to bend down and submit when challenged.

“Are you wishing you killed yourself now, Christopher?” Peter asked, voice back to his deceptively light tone. “Since you’re nothing but a rabid, uncontrollable beast? Exactly what you thought of werewolves for so long.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Hale.” Chris looked like he was about to lunge at Peter, held back by the thinnest thread.

Peter smirked and took a step forward. “Maybe it was a self fulfilling prophecy for you; so convinced for decades that werewolves were slaves to their emotions, brutal, violent beasts that you became exactly that.” He took another step, and then another, until he was face to face, chest to chest, with Chris.

Stiles watched as Peter wrapped his clawed hand around Chris’s neck and squeezed. “Gerard would be so happy to be proven right about you,” he said in a low whisper. “That you were his useless son who couldn’t even manage to control his anger.”

“If you don’t shut the hell up, Peter, this will be your shortest stint as an alpha yet,” Chris snarled.

“I bet that would make Allison proud.” Peter sneered at Chris and tightened his grip, Stiles could see blood trickling down Chris’s neck, leaving tracks through the thin layer of dirt that covered it. “Her daddy becoming an alpha because he failed at the thing that he thought he was best at.”

Chris’s snarl grew louder and he decked Peter. Stiles was pretty certain he heard the crack of bone and he wasn’t certain if it was from Peter’s jaw or Chris’s hand, it might have been both.

“Do I need to make you shut up?” Chris’s voice was still a snarl, but it sounded more like his usual, human snarl, helped in part by the way his fangs melted back into dull human teeth. He shook his hand out and by the way the fingers moved, they were definitely broken. “Because believe me, Peter, I know plenty of ways to do that.”

Peter’s lips stretched into a wide, smug, smirking smile. There was a trail of blood down from his nose that colored his white teeth a deeper crimson than his eyes. “And how would you do that, darling?”

Chris narrowed his eyes and scowled. “I’d break your ribs so you could finally suck your own dick. You’d probably fuck off for the rest of eternity doing that. God knows you spend every waking hour metaphorically sucking it anyway.”

Peter adjusted his jaw, setting the broken bone with a nasty crack. He appraised Chris with a long look, never losing the smug smirk that pulled at his lips. “So it took Stiles getting his head bashed in to give some control back to him and it took insulting you in the eyes of your daughter to give you some control. You two are  _ fascinating _ .”

Chris’s lips twitched as if he was fighting back the need to bare his teeth. “Every time you open your mouth I feel the urge to tear out your tongue with my bare hands.”

“You are absolutely every inch of the dominant challenge that I thought you’d be as a beta.” Peter folded his arms against his chest and blinked slowly at Chris. “You’re going to be a complete nightmare, aren’t you?”

“Peter.”

“I really do enjoy a challenge from time to time.” Peter turned his head from Chris to look towards Stiles. “And you, Stiles, you’ll be perfect when you’re broken in.”

“Broken in?” Stiles asked, incredulous. “I’m not a fucking horse, Peter.” His voice was still distorted by fangs, his mind was clear thanks to the beating he had received but he couldn’t force his body to change back. 

“No, but you’re a puppy with no control.” With one last glance, Peter walked away from Chris and towards Stiles. He knelt down in front of him and put a hand on his cheek, thumb stroking his still tender cheekbone.

Stiles wanted to recoil in disgust. He hated how Peter went from cruel words to tender touches in a single breath. But the wolf still had control, brought to the forefront by the fullness of the moon, and it craved the touch of its alpha. He leaned into Peter’s hand and closed his eyes, letting out a satisfied little sigh.

Peter stayed like that for several long moments and Stiles felt his fangs slowly melt back into teeth and his claws faded away. He was aware of Chris watching them, but he couldn’t help himself as he whined when Peter pulled his hand away.

Peter’s eyes were back to pale, icy blue when Stiles finally opened his. Stiles squirmed under his appraising stare. “You’re a challenge for a completely different reason,” Peter said after a few seconds. He paused and then folded his arms against his chest with a smirk. “I wouldn’t have my pack any other way.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and gave a snort. “You’re so fucking full of shit, dude.” He stood up and rubbed his cheek, unsure if it was to get rid of the memory of Peter’s touch or to feel if the broken bone had really healed.

“Was it really necessary to have Chris and I kick the shit out of each other — or, actually, Chris kick the shit out of me — or did you do that just to get your rocks off?”

Peter gave him a scathing look. “I wanted to see if either of you could pull yourself out of the rage without needing me. Obviously, that was a failure, but I have a better grasp on what the two of you need now.”

“Next time, how about you don’t have us fight each other.” Chris walked up behind Peter and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “Go check the wards, Stiles, Peter and I need to have a little discussion.”

Stiles didn’t miss the way Peter’s eyes narrowed at Chris’s words. He wasn’t sure if it was from annoyance or if he was pleased, knowing Peter it was probably some sick combination of both. “Okay,” Stiles said slowly, looking from Chris to Peter then back to Chris again. “If you’re gonna kill him, Chris, just make sure he stays dead I guess.” He didn’t really want to find out how Peter’s other come back from the dead plans worked. 

Stiles considered trying to stick around in hearing range to hear Chris chew Peter out but he also knew that both of them had a better grasp on just how far werewolf hearing extended than he did. He frowned and started to slowly walk off into the trees around the cabin, he only just vaguely heard the two men speaking in low voices before he was out of hearing range. 

——

“So how exactly do you get Internet here?” Stiles asked as Peter flicked through Netflix. “Pretty sure AT&T doesn’t include magically hidden cabins in the Preserve in their service map.”

Honestly, the longer he stayed in the Hale cabin, the more questions he had. There was some magic permeating it that kept the grounds in some form of mid-spring stasis. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there was some Druid magic that could do that, but Deaton had never gotten around to teaching him anything like that. Not to mention magic usually had an expiration date if it wasn’t being kept up and he really doubted Deaton was going around making sure all of the Hale’s hidden properties were still at just the right temperature.

On top of that, the fridge was well stocked and the cabin was furnished nicer than his house. For a place in the middle of the fucking woods, the cabin was a goddamn swanky retreat. But there was no road that led to it and Stiles really doubted that Peter was making the mile and a half trek from the gravel road to the cabin to take in groceries.

“We had cables installed throughout the Preserve years back, I just had the utilities restored to this place the morning after I bit Christopher.” Peter didn’t take his eyes off the television as he continued searching for something to watch. “Amazingly enough, we lived in the modern era and kept up with the times. It might have only been the early twenty first century when our home was burnt down, but it was the twenty first century nevertheless.”

“This TV’s absolutely not from 2005,” Stiles said while he pulled out his phone. It was vibrating with some texts from the group text with Scott, Malia, Isaac, Allison, Kira, and Lydia. He scrolled through the messages, skimming through them to see if he missed anything important.

“He wasn’t going to be stuck here with me without a good tv.” Chris looked up from his book with a frown. “Believe me, when we first got here, the tv and desktop were both ancient relics.”

“Renovating this place hadn’t been in my plans for ages,” Peter said with a shrug. “Everything had to be accelerated thanks to you two getting turned.” He finally settled on a show, some nature documentary about African wildlife. It wouldn’t have been Stiles’ first choice but the predator in his brain was immediately drawn to the darting animals on screen. 

“Why hadn’t Derek used this with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd?” Stiles asked. 

Peter hummed and rested his arm on the back of the couch, behind Stiles. “He hadn’t been added to the wards when the fire happened so he probably couldn’t even get here.” He cupped the back of Stiles’ neck with his hand, making Stiles nearly jump out of his skin, and rubbed the base of his skull with a thumb.

“There’s a few places like this in the Preserve and I’m probably the only one who can get to all of them,” Peter continued, not taking his eyes off of the TV. “Most are pretty uninteresting, more places for wolves struggling with their shifts, but Talia had a cabin that was essentially a second vault. It had some precious heirlooms and documents about various treaties and agreements we had with other packs. There were a few grimoires there as well, focused on magic werewolves could do.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and managed to tear his eyes away from the screen to look at Peter. “Is this the carrot you’re gonna keep dangling in front of me?” He asked, frowning. Peter had explained some of the basics on the distractor spell to him the previous night but it hadn’t been enough to actually learn how to implement it.

“You learn how to control yourself and I’ll let you borrow one of the grimoires.” Peter flashed him a brilliant smile. “It’s not a carrot on a stick if I’m actually planning on rewarding you with it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to catching up with the group text.  _ I’m now accepting bets on how long until Chris or I kill Peter. I’m starting with three hours for twenty bucks. _ He sent when he heard Chris make some annoyed noise on the other side of him. 

_ Fifteen bucks says Sunday evening _ . Isaac responded nearly immediately.  _ Loads of blood & the sheriff department would write it off as an animal attack despite the bullet wounds lmaooooooooooo _

Kira added,  _ tbh i feel like it’s either gonna go really well and you guys r either gonna come out of this bffs for life or peters gonna be found ripped into pieces scattered throughout the preserve………….. twenty bucks it happens on monday after u leave _

_ You know what my bets are on for the two of them… _ Lydia texted. She quickly followed it up with a few eggplant emojis to really hammer home her point, much to Stiles’ disgust.

Stiles never received a faster response from Allison than Lydia’s message got.  _ Uh ??????????? Lydia ????????? No ???????????????? Jesus _

“Do I want to know what got your heart rate up so much?” Peter quirked a brow and Stiles quickly locked his phone.

“Lydia’s antagonizing the group chat,” Stiles said vaguely. Based on the fact that his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, he assumed the rest of the group was telling Lydia to never use eggplant emojis in the same discussion as Peter or Chris ever again. He absolutely wasn’t about to check with Peter breathing down his neck, however.

Peter hummed and turned his eyes back to the documentary while Stiles drummed his fingers anxiously on his thigh. The nature documentary was good for placating the wolf side of his brain which was so present with the moon still full in the sky but it did nothing to stop the human side from running wild. 

Part of the problem was that there wasn’t a massive unifying terror that the three of them were working together to stop. They had already finished that crisis and should have gone their separate ways immediately after. Stiles liked and admired Chris but it wasn’t like they were close friends. He had been on the periphery of Scott’s pack, the same as Peter, because of Allison and the need to protect. Like, first and foremost Stiles still saw him as Allison’s dad and besides terrifying crises, he wasn’t really sure of what to talk about with him.

He supposed they could probably talk about their mutual dislike of Peter or how to handle the werewolf shit, but those weren’t exactly the most comforting of topics. He wasn’t even really sure what Chris’s interests were besides guns and hunting. 

And then there was Peter.

When they had the goal of stopping the caster, it was fine. Stiles hadn’t trusted Peter but he knew they had little choice than to work with him, he had the bigger problem to distract him from the larger problem of Peter’s existence. It had been easy in his apartment, alone and just the two of them. But Stiles still felt uneasy around him, especially after his threats in the boiler room. Peter was dangerous, that was a fact of the universe just like the sky being blue or ice being cold. But in moments where he was petting Stiles’ hair or pulling Stiles’ head onto his lap, Stiles came close to forgetting that.

The thing that Stiles was afraid of the most when it came to Peter, he supposed, was that he actually was close to liking him. The time the two of them had spent alone together had been actually nice. Peter liked some of the same things that he did and he was witty and could keep up with him. Sometimes, when both Peter and Chris were at the loft for pack meetings at the same time, Stiles thought they were the only ones that could keep up with his thoughts aside from Lydia.

Liking Chris was fine because he was… well, he wasn’t  _ safe  _ persay, but Stiles knew that he’d always protect him (unless they were both out of their minds under the influence of the moon and were trying to kill each other). But liking Peter? That was a one way ticket to the destination of disembowelment and getting screwed over and betrayed in the worst possible way.

At least, that’s what Stiles used to believe. There was still a part of him that believed that, but he was also slowly starting to come to terms with the idea of maybe Peter wasn’t going to betray him. If Stiles did anything that endangered him, Peter would kill him without second thoughts, but he wasn’t going to actively seek to ruin him. 

But none of that meant Peter was safe or he was going to look after Stiles’ best interests. Peter was selfish, another fact. He was possessive, cruel, manipulative, but also protective, smart, and funny. He was a man who was utterly broken by the murder of his family, even if he murdered his own niece to take her power. 

There was unquestionable darkness in Peter, but there was that same darkness in Chris and even Stiles himself. Maybe that’s why they had all gotten lumped in together, Scott was a beacon of light and he attracted good people. Kira, Allison, even Isaac, they were all filled with goodness. Isaac and Allison had both been through hell with their families but they came out with their heads high. But even after so much time, Stiles could still feel the memory of creeping, oily darkness that the Nogitsune left.

He still remembered the thrill it had gotten as it killed, maimed, and wounded. He could still feel it, as if it had been his own. He was able to shove away the memories most days, meds and therapy had been a help, but they’d never fully go away. 

Yeah, Peter was far from good, but Chris and Stiles laid in some limbo state themselves. Their eyes were proof enough of that.

Stiles’ phone buzzed with a tone he set for Scott, drawing him out of his thoughts. He pulled his eyes away from the television screen and checked the message. 

_ Everything good tonight? just wanted to check up on u dude _

Stiles unlocked his phone and responded,  _ yea, it’s all p weird and overwhelming but I think the worst is over _

“I’m gonna head off to bed,” Stiles said as he sent the text. Peter’s hand released from his neck and he felt himself missing the heavy warmth almost immediately. Standing up was even worse in its own way since he, Peter, and Chris had all been sitting so close together because of damn wolf brains.

He didn’t miss the way Peter looked at him with narrowed, piercing eyes as he headed over to the small bedroom in the cabin. But neither he nor Chris said anything to stop him. 

Chris and Peter talked in low tones as Stiles laid down on the bed and texted back and forth with Scott, first about the night and later on, just about dumb bullshit. Eventually, as dawn started to peek through the sky, he couldn’t manage to stay awake any longer. He stopped fighting his heavy eyelids and let himself slowly drift off to sleep.

In the twilight of awareness and sleep, when Stiles couldn’t be sure if he was dreaming or not, the door to the bedroom pushed open and Peter, fully shifted trotted in. He was just as massive as Stiles remembered, the size of what he imagined a direwolf would be. He looked at Stiles, crimson eyes sharp and inquisitive as he plodded over to the bed and set a single massive paw on it. When Stiles, drowsy and still mildly unsure if he was dreaming or not, made no move to stop him, Peter climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under the weight of his massive form, so much bigger than any normal wolf.

Peter curled up next to Stiles, radiating heat, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself as he ran a hand through the thick fur that covered his neck. Peter made a pleased rumble and stretched out his massive head, eyes closed. It was easy to think of him as something other than Peter Hale when shaped like a wolf and with a half asleep mind. 

Stiles found himself drifting fully to sleep with his body pressed close to the wolf in his bed and his fingers entangled in its inky black fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! I hope everyone has a great 2020!!! Ya girl turned 24 today, hell yeah


	13. Chapter 13

Peter curling up in Stiles’ bed went unacknowledged the next morning. The only proof that it wasn’t actually all some weird fucked up dream was the black fur that covered Stiles’ pajama shirt and the blankets of the bed. There were no other traces of Peter to be found in the small bedroom when Stiles woke up. He was still in the cabin, Stiles could hear him moving around in the kitchen, and Stiles briefly wondered if this was what the aftermath of a one night stand was like.

That feeling was heightened as when Stiles moved out of the bedroom and towards the common area, Peter didn’t acknowledge the fact that he had decided to slip in and share Stiles’ bed as a gigantic wolf that barely fit. He just raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly and motioned towards the table where there was a plate waiting for him next to Chris.

And know what? Stiles was perfectly happy not addressing the fact that he had once again willingly cuddled up and slept in bed with Peter fucking Hale. So he said nothing, eyes daring Peter to say a single goddamn word. 

But Peter didn’t, not for the entire day spent beating control into Stiles and Chris, nor when he led Chris and Stiles away from the cabin and back towards the cars, nor in the days that followed. 

Days turned into weeks and things started to fall into a rhythm. Stiles would wake up, Peter or Chris would be at his door, he’d be driven to school, and then after school he was driven home. His dad had seemed highly skeptical at first, especially with how being at the door quickly morphed into, well, Chris would wait at the door and Peter would just let himself in.

The first time Noah had been there when Peter either picked the lock or used a dubiously acquired key, Stiles thought that he was going to have a heart attack. It was a good thing that his gun was already put away because Stiles saw him instinctively reach for it when Noah saw Peter sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone and sipping coffee.

Peter looked as nonplussed as ever when Noah told him that they needed to have a discussion. Honestly, he had probably gotten used to being threatened by men with firearm training with the amount of time Chris had been forced to spend with him.

But aside from that hiccup, the days started to fade back into normality. Stiles went back to having weekend hangout sessions with Scott and Isaac, he started getting a grasp on controlling his emotions, and even Peter had shown signs of relaxing. Of course that all meant that, because Stiles wasn’t allowed to have nice things, during the first day of Thanksgiving break, everything started going wrong. 

It started just like everything in Beacon Hills seemed to, with a dead body found in the Preserve.

Stiles was chilling at Scott’s house, they were celebrating the start of the break playing some Double Dash when he got a call from Lydia.

“Hey Lyds, what’s up?” Stiles put her on speakerphone and went back to trying to leave Scott in the dust. In the second it had taken him to answer the call, he had already been whacked with a red shell and had another coming his way. Scott smirked at him when Stiles looked over, offended.

“Stiles, you need to pause whatever game you’re playing, I’m in the middle of the Preserve and there’s blood everywhere.” Lydia sounded shaken up and Stiles had to tense his arms to fight against the claws and fangs that wanted to spring free. He hated that Lydia found herself alone, surrounded by gruesome death so often.

“We’ll be there in fifteen,” Scott spoke up and paused the game damn near immediately. He put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and looked at him, concern in his eyes. He had obviously sensed the way Stiles was fighting back the shift. “Have you called anyone else yet?”

“Malia’s with me, we were—“ Lydia broke off and then after a moment, she continued, “I called Allison, her and her dad are on their way which probably means we’ll be seeing Peter.” Lydia’s breathing was loud and sounded like she was just on this side of not having a panic attack. Stiles had to let go of the GameCube controller so he didn’t crush it. “You should probably let the rest of the pack know.”

“I’ll do that on the way over. Should Stiles call his dad?” Scott stood up and Stiles quickly followed suit.

“There’s branches growing out of her, I’m pretty sure this is a supernatural killer, not a human one. We should leave the cops out of this for now.”

Stiles looked towards Scott with wide eyes and immediately started trying to think of things that could be behind it. “We’ll be there soon,” Stiles said as he hung up the phone. Then, to Scott he said, “This might be another Darach, we should probably call Deaton.”

Scott nodded. “I’ll do the calls while you drive.”

Everything felt so normal, like they were back to the same routine they had been in before the shit with the unicorn. Stiles could almost pretend like he was still part of Scott’s pack. But he wasn’t, and that was made clear when they made it to the body in the Preserve.

The first thing was, Stiles hadn’t realized how overwhelmingly pungent the smell of death was. As he and Scott got closer, he had to take a moment to retch into a bush. Everything smelled of blood and the beginnings of decay. His thoughts flickered back to the cabin that the caster had been using. He could practically taste the memory and that had been through regular human senses. He wondered how Peter and the caster himself had been able to stand it with their heightened senses.

The next thing was that Peter was there, either called by Chris or he had been in the room when Chris got the call from Allison. But that didn’t really matter, the important part was that Peter was walking around the body — calling what was growing out of it branches really had been an understatement, it was like an entire fucking sapling — with his hands in his coat pockets and frowning. Stiles didn’t see anyone else and wondered vaguely if Peter forced them all away so he could do his own investigation. 

“Stiles,” Peter said, not looking up from the body. How he could differentiate his scent from the overwhelming smell of the body, Stiles had no clue. What he did know was that with an apologetic look, Stiles left Scott’s side to walk over to Peter.

“What are your first thoughts?” Peter asked in a quiet voice. He rested a hand on the small of Stiles’ back as he approached. 

“Darach?” Stiles responded, trying very hard to keep from vomiting at a crime scene. He could hardly focus on looking at the green new growth when his stomach was rolling from the all consuming scents. Every time he inhaled he could taste copper and salt and decay covering his throat and tongue and lungs. “I can’t do this,” he gasped out, swallowing to fight back the nausea.

“Wait here for your pack, Scott.” Peter barely spared Scott a glance as he pushed Stiles away from the body and the smell. 

When they were finally a distance where the smell was present but not sickness inducing, Peter stopped and Stiles fell down onto his knees. He breathed deeply, still smelling the coppery blood but it was mixed with the earthy smells of the forest. He dug his fingers into the dirt and wished that he could turn off the super smelling ability he had gained. 

“It’s not a Darach.” Peter leaned against a tree and stared at Stiles with an unreadable expression. “Good guess, but it’s wrong.”

“So are you gonna tell me or will I have to go back there and keep on guessing while I try not to vomit on the body?” Stiles asked, fighting back the flicker of annoyance that seemed to flare up and eternally burn in Peter’s presence.

Peter smirked with the tiniest twitch of his lips. “Well, I was going to tell you until you offered up that even better idea to me.” He folded his arms across his chest and the smirk was still plastered on his face. “It’s a nature spirit, tell me some things you could think of.”

Stiles frowned. “Are we seriously back to this game?” When Peter gave no response, he seriously considered calling for Chris to really bring things full circle. But that hadn’t really worked back then and probably wouldn’t work now. So instead Stiles started to make lists in his brain.

“I don’t know, are ents an actual, non-Tolkien thing?” Stiles asked with a shrug. He took Peter’s quirked eyebrow as a no so he continued thinking. “A fairy? Are we about to have some portal to the fey’s word open up in the middle of the Preserve?”

Peter snorted, “The last thing the fey want is to open up a portal to their lands in the middle of territory controlled by two packs of werewolves.”

“But,” he continued after a brief pause. “It is related to the fey, remember what I told you about nature spirits?”

Stiles blanched. “Jesus, so we go from having an evil unicorn murdering everyone to being haunted by nature spirits? What is it, a satyr?”

Peter knocked his knuckles against the tree he was leaning on. “A dryad, presumably they came here due to the unicorn which must not have run quite as far away as I had hoped.”

“So we’re not getting a portal to the fey’s world, we’re just going to have Beacon Hills transformed into a magical forest thanks to the unicorn and whatever the fuck else comes here thanks to it?” Could this town stop being such a nightmare for like five minutes? All Stiles wanted to do for his Thanksgiving break was have a nonstop video game marathon with Scott and eat himself to bursting on Thanksgiving, not deal with supernatural bullshit. 

“So if there’s a new teacher when I’m back to class on Monday, I’m safe to assume they’re the dryad?”

Peter laughed, “Fuck no, dryads wouldn’t grace humanity with seeing them even cloaked in a disguise. Our new tree probably was out hiking and accidentally got a glimpse of them.” He paused and walked over to Stiles before pulling him up off of the ground. “You’ll need to have your father cordon off the Preserve for however long it takes for us to slaughter the unicorn and however many dryads, hamadryads, satyrs, and god knows what else shows up. Christopher is currently tracking the dryad.”

Stiles wrapped his fingers around Peter’s thick forearm as he was lifted up. “Scott’s not going to like this.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re not his pack then, isn’t it?” Peter didn’t let go of Stiles even after he was standing on two feet. In fact, he just pulled him closer and stared into his eyes. “Unless you want to see Beacon Hills go from small town USA to the only beautiful natural preserve that will remain untouched for decades in this part of the United States, we’re going to do this my way.”

“Yeah like that went so well the last time.”

“The mistake I made was leaving the unicorn alive.” Peter paused and a feral grin twisted his features. It was easy to see the wolf that lived under his skin, even with pale blue eyes and flat human teeth. No human looked like that or had the same primal bloodlust that Peter did. “We’re not going to let anything survive this time.”

Yeah, Stiles wasn’t satisfied. “We’re talking with Deaton and working out a competent plan with him, Chris, and the others. Maybe it is just slaughtering everything! Or maybe there’s gonna be something easier and just as effective, but either way we’re going about this better than before.”

Peter rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed that Stiles wasn’t going along with his kill first ask questions later plan. But they had tried that before and it had fucking sucked big time so Stiles wasn’t going to take any of his shit. Peter could pull his alpha control nonsense if he really felt like his plan was the best, but nothing short of that was going to stop Stiles from consulting outside sources.

“Where’s Lydia? I want to sit with her until Deaton gets here since I’m gonna be no help when it comes to inspecting the body.”

“And I suppose sitting and talking with me is too distasteful for you?”

Stiles snorted and shook his head. “I figured you’d want to keep inspecting the body or maybe work some more on your big evil plan.” He paused, “Plus, I wanna make sure she’s okay, I know she has Malia and I’m assuming Allison here, but… you know, it’s not like this shit gets easier to walk in on.”

Peter stared at him for several long moments. He had his usual, unreadable expression on his face before it softened into something new. “Malia took her and Allison to the house. I’ll walk you there.”

“Why didn’t the unicorn leave?” Stiles asked as he started to follow Peter. “And why are we seeing this just now? It’s been over a month, shouldn’t we have seen this type of thing earlier?”

Peter shrugged. “There’s any number of things; there could be other bodies that became hosts for trees, the dryad’s been here but nobody’s seen them yet, or maybe some hamadryads and satyrs have come. They tend to be more of the use cloaking magic to make humans think they saw a really big bush or a random goat type rather than the turn whatever human that sees them into a tree type.”

“And what if werewolves see a dryad?” Chris was alone and actively tracking the damn thing. Realistically, Stiles knew there was no way in hell that Chris would agree to do something that end only in his death, but the flicker of panic still flared up. 

“Werewolves are part of the same world, Christopher would probably get a warning that this is now the territory of nature to take back to his pack. But fortunately, his goal is to track them without being found.” Peter hopped over a fallen log and held out a hand to help Stiles over it, which Stiles took, cursing the fact that even with all of the bonuses he got from the shift, he still sucked at balance.

“He wants to figure out where exactly all of this is centralized and the dryad can’t know that they’re being tracked for that to happen,” Peter continued on. It made sense to Stiles, Chris was probably the best tracker in Beacon Hills even before he got all of the werewolf buffs. With them? Yeah, Stiles didn’t think anything stood a chance in hell in getting away from him. 

“I need to do research on this,” Stiles said with a frown. “After this, I want you to give me whatever resources you have on nature spirits. Wait, shit—“ he broke off and scratched at his neck. “I need to talk with my dad about this too… I’m gonna stop by my house and pick him up and then we’re going over to your apartment.”

“As much as I love my home being invaded by the police force, may I ask why that’s necessary? Tell him to cordon off the Preserve because there’s a dryad that will kill any human that stumbles across them. Inviting him over to my apartment is unnecessary.” Peter scowled deeply at Stiles and Stiles thought that it really was a wonder that more people hadn’t attempted to murder him before. 

“Yeah, cool, noted. I’m still taking dad over because, guess what, he’s a brilliant detective and will be able to help me out here.” Stiles nearly stumbled over a root he hadn’t noticed but caught himself on a sapling at the last second. “So you’ll have an hour to clear away any dead bodies and murder weapons from the premises.”

“You’re forgetting my stache of cocaine,” Peter added in a dry voice. Stiles was jealous of the ease he traversed through the uneven ground. Peter was a man made for luxury, designer clothes, colognes more expensive than Stiles even wanted to think about, and high end cars, but despite that, he was utterly at home in the forest.

“Well hide that too since I’m pretty sure dad would _ love _to find an excuse to ship you ten states away in maximum security.”

Peter belted out a laugh, “Sweetheart, maximum security made for humans would keep me contained for five minutes.”

“Gives me a five minute head start on getting away from you then.”

“You’d miss my charm too much,” Peter said with a flash of white teeth. And, dammit, as conflicted as Stiles still was about him, he _ would _miss Peter on some level. He was ruthless and evil and a complete asshole, but he was also witty and funny.

Why couldn’t shitty people just all have personalities as charming as a pile as sludge like Jackson did? At least it had been easy to hate him.

Peter got quiet as they approach the charred skeleton of the Hale House and not for the first time, Stiles wondered what was going on in his head. He thought back to the photos Peter kept tucked away in boxes and couldn’t help but imagine what fond memories Peter had of childhood that happened in the forest around them. 

Stiles looked over at Peter and tried to inspect his expression, but it was as frustratingly unreadable as ever. Despite the amount of time they had been spending together, Stiles still struggled to figure out what exactly the man was feeling. He wanted to know concretely what Peter felt when he looked at the house where so many happy memories and tragedies combined into one charred ruin. 

But he doubted he’d ever know, not when Peter seemed content to keep the idea of him actually having emotions a mystery. Stiles wondered if Peter was so happy to play the villain because it would make it so nobody would actually try and understand what he was feeling. They’d paint him the unfeeling monster and leave him at that. 

It was odd, Stiles had seen hints of Peter as an actual person. He had seen his sci fi book collection, he had seen the organized chaos of his office, he had seen Peter vulnerable and half asleep. But Stiles was still so far from understanding the way he felt when he looked at things like bodies with trees growing from them, his own daughter, or the skeleton of his family’s home.

Maybe rage and bloodlust was all there was to Peter, maybe the fire really had burnt everything but fury away. But Stiles didn’t think it was that simple, it never was. 

He hated how much he wanted to know the secrets Peter seemed content to share with no one. 

Peter paused and looked at Stiles, either unknowing or uncaring about his internal monologues. “If you manage to get murdered by a dryad in the hundred feet between here and the house, I’ll be amazed.”

“I think you’re really underselling my ability to trip over my own two feet and break my neck here.”

Peter flashed his teeth in a grin at Stiles. “I have faith that you can make it without falling.”

“But not without getting murdered by a tree person?” Stiles cocked a brow in question at Peter.

“You tend to be a magnet for unfortunate events,” Peter said, shrugging. He turned his head away from the house and towards the trees behind them. “Deaton should be arriving soon and I have a few things I’d like to talk with him about. I’ll even ask him what alternatives there are to killing everything for you if that would make you feel better.”

Stiles ignored the sneer in Peter’s tone. “I just want to check on Lydia and then I’m gonna head home and get my dad.” He brushed past Peter and started towards the Hale House. “I’ll probably be there in an hour and I’m just gonna pick the lock if you’re not there.”

“How charming.”

——

So, an hour turned out being something closer to three. A few issues had cropped up when it came to checking in on Lydia, namely the fact that Stiles noticed that the flannel she was wearing was one that formerly belonged to him before Malia had ended up with it. And then when he noticed that, he looked at Malia more closely and noticed the remnants of lipstick smudges she hadn’t wiped away well enough on her neck.

“So do I comment on this or no?” Stiles said slowly, looking from Malia, to Lydia, and then back to Malia again.

“Are you gonna be weird about it?” Malia asked.

“I mean no but,” Stiles paused and scratched at the back of his neck. “How long?”

“Like a month,” Malia said with a shrug. “We were gonna tell you but, you know, you were struggling and so we didn’t want to dump the whole ‘Hey, your ex and the girl you had been crushing on for years are now together’ bomb on you.”

“Do you have any bombs to drop on me?” Stiles turned to Allison and raised a brow.

“My back has suddenly healed from getting stabbed by an oni and I can walk again, I was waiting for the more important relationship news to drop first.” Allison’s lips twisted into a smirk and she laughed.

“After all this shit I’ve seen? I’d believe it,” Stiles laughed with her. “But real talk, are you okay, Lydia?” He quickly sobered up and looked at Lydia, she still seemed pale and shaken where she was sitting next to Malia on the stairs.

“As okay as I’ll ever be when I go from having a good night to waking up in the middle of the forest with a body in front of me.” Lydia’s lips were tight and her attempt at a smirk fell flat. “Mostly I’m just worried about what’s coming.”

“Just kill the dryad and whatever other ones start coming, they’re invading our territory and they’re a threat, they’d do the same to us.” Malia made it sound so simple and it was frightening how similar her idea was to Peter’s. But the difference between them was that when Malia said it, it sounded like it stemmed from her years in the wild. If there was a threat, she killed it before it killed her; it wasn’t anything personal or malicious. Just a simple drive to live. But when Peter said it? It sounded like the first step in some greater plot.

“What was Peter’s plan?” Allison asked.

“Honestly? Literally what Malia just said. He wants to kill the unicorn — which apparently isn’t gone, it’s a Thanksgiving miracle — and everything else that shows up.”

“Scott’s going to love that,” Lydia said dryly. “And I’m guessing you disagreed with the plan?”

“I’m waiting for Deaton’s opinion.” Stiles shrugged and sat down on the dusty floor. “Maybe killing them all’s really the way to go about it, but I just want to make sure that we actually solve the problem this time.”

Lydia just made a small noise, like she was going to say more but thought better of it. Stiles could come up with a list of a million different things she could have been thinking of saying and he really didn’t want to dwell too long on any of them. 

Eventually, Lydia spoke up, “I had been checking out the Argent’s bestiary and some other books I had borrowed from Chris back when this all started and had seen some connections between unicorns and dryads and the like.” She ran her fingers through her hair as she spoke, working it into a loose braid. “I didn’t read too much into those connections, but I can start looking into them tonight, I’ll just need to tell my mom that I’m gonna stay over at Allison’s tonight.”

Three hours of talking and planning later, Stiles eventually managed to get home. Not like he planned on staying there for longer than ten minutes. It was a purely grab dad and then spend an ungodly number of hours researching plan. He supposed that he should have been glad that shit hit the fan during Thanksgiving break instead of during finals season. But he wasn’t, he just wanted to veg out and play video games, not sleeping until dawn broke, not handle another supernatural war zone.

Stiles ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he waited at a red light. The more he thought about all of this, the more ridiculous and obnoxious it seemed. It was like the universe was conspiring to make it so every time he thought shit was finally getting to some form of normal, a new wave of bullshit hit him.

The annoyance and frustration that he felt was enough to make claws prickle at the ends of his fingers. By the time the light turned green, he had managed to force them back into blunt nails but just the reminder that he hadn’t even become a fully functioning werewolf by the time dryads came a-murdering was enough to make him want to scream.

Fuck the nemeton, fuck the caster that had started this mess, fuck Peter, and fuck the unicorn. Fuck the very concept of supernatural monsters. Stiles turned onto his street and cursed pretty much the entire world. When he pulled into his driveway, he wondered what the name of Peter’s great-great-great-great grandma was so he could properly curse her too. 

Stiles continued to think up things to wish a horrible, fiery pit in Hell upon as he walked up to his front door. The general concept of wolves could go fuck itself since if that wasn’t a thing, none of the werewolf bullshit would have been happening. Horses could go impale themselves on a fence post too. On that line of thinking, he wondered if it would be considered passive aggressive or just flat out aggressive to buy a wood chipper and cart it around with him. Because trees and dryads and nature in general all could go fuck off too. 

“Dad?” Stiles called out, walking into the house. “I’m giving you five minutes to put your face on before we take a road trip to an apartment owned by someone who could probably be considered a serial killer.” He headed over to the living room where he heard the low thrum of a football game being watched. 

He headed over to the living room and wrinkled his nose at the smell of salt and oil. He didn’t see a bag anywhere but the evidence of chips felt like it was everywhere. “I’m finding your chip stash when we’re back and throwing it away, by the way.” Maybe that was the only good part of the entire nightmare that was supernatural nonsense; he could keep better tabs on his dad’s diet.

“You don’t have any evidence of chips — your nose wouldn’t hold up in court, Stiles.” Noah looked up at him with his brows raised. “And why are we going to Peter Hale’s apartment?”

Stiles took a deep breath before he blurted out, “So Lydia found a dead body on the Preserve and there’s an entire tree growing out of it. Turns out that unicorn that Peter, Chris, and I took care of and I got bit because of? Yeah, not taken care of and now it and a bunch of other shit like dryads are trying to turn Beacon Hills into some mystical grove and you probably need to cordon off the Preserve so we don’t get more tree people. I need to do research and you’d be a help with piecing everything together.” He felt mildly light headed by the end, having not taking a single breath the entire time he spoke.

Noah blinked slowly, trying to process what Stiles had said. “Slow down, you know I’m not as up to date as you are about this stuff. Why is a tree growing out of a body and where is it? I need to send a team on it.”

Stiles ran a hand down his face. “Can I explain as we drive?”

Noah let out a sigh and turned off the tv before he stood up. “Is Lydia okay?” He asked with a note of concern in his voice.

“She’s shaken up but by the time I left, she was doing better.” Stiles shrugged and followed his dad out the door. “I don’t like that despite everything, we still haven’t figured out a way to stop her from wandering into murder scenes and seeing shit that even I don’t want to see.”

“I can’t say I envy any of you kids. The only thing you should be sneaking out to do is seeing some girl I don’t like, not trying to save the entire town from disaster.” Noah slid into the passenger seat of Stiles’ Jeep and looked at Stiles with a frown on his face. “Now tell me about what’s happening.”

The Jeep sputtered to life as Stiles turned the keys in the ignition and started to back out of the driveway. “After we killed the caster, we assumed the unicorn would go back to wherever it came from so we let it get away. That and the only one of us that was in any sort of fighting shape was Peter so it’s not like we were in any state to take it on anyway.” He paused as he slowed to a stop at a stop sign and waited for cars to pass so he could make a left.

“But I guess it decided to make a home in the Preserve — probably because of the Nemeton or something — and now it’s attracting a bunch of other shit.” Stiles let out a hissing, frustrated breath. “I really don’t know much more than what little information I got from Peter and Lydia earlier when I was there, but apparently dryads are the things that are really gonna be fucking everything up.”

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and closed his eyes. He took a moment before he finally responded, “I really liked when dryads and unicorns were just things in books, you know that, right?”

Stiles laughed, it wasn’t an amused laugh, more one of terror. “Imagine if the books told all of the details like the goring and the fact that if some random hiker accidentally stumbles across a dryad they get to become a tree. Like, seriously, why does everything that comes to town want to kill us? Why can’t a pack of friendly gnomes that want to make everyone’s gardens perfect come by?”

“I’ve been asking myself that every day since I was in that damn root cellar. But where’s the body? If you want me to cordon off the Preserve, I need a reason for it and ‘because there’s a tree person that’s killing people’ surprisingly doesn’t count when it comes to the police.” And, know what? That was a valid point.

“I’m assuming Chris is gonna be at Peter’s place so you can probably coordinate something with him,” Stiles said with a shrug. He frowned as the light in front of him turned red, because apparently the stoplights in town were united with the universe in fucking him over. “But I just figured there could be some sinkhole or mountain lion issue that made it unsafe for people to go there.”

“Yeah, that’s not how that works and you know it. Cordoning off someplace like the Preserve is gonna raise eyebrows and questions. A body with a suspected killer could probably do it, but talking with Argent to think up other potentials isn’t a bad plan.” Noah paused briefly and then continued, “God knows he’s covered up god knows how many deaths already.” If the fast food wasn’t going to give Noah a heart attack, Stiles was pretty sure the supernatural and supernatural adjacent residents of Beacon Hills would. 

“I’m just saying, mountain lions would probably keep people out.” They passed the coffee shop that Stiles was pretty certain had nothing under twenty dollars on the menu which signaled that they were close to Peter’s apartment. “What if we recruited some Mormons or something to stand around the perimeter of the Preserve? Everyone would avoid it then.”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s certainly a plan. Not a good one, but it’s a plan.” He huffed out a laugh and cocked a brow at Stiles. “So mountain lions and Mormons are what you’ve come up with so far, anything else?”

Stiles grinned. “I was considering a high powered wood chipper.”

“I’ve seen you trip over your own two feet too many damn times to think that would end in anything but you in enough pieces that even your new healing wouldn’t be able to fix.” Noah shook his head with a small smile of his own as they pulled into Peter’s apartment complex. “You stick to researching about these things and let me think of ways to keep people out of the Preserve for the time being.”

Stiles pulled into a parking space and turned off the Jeep. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the unicorn's pretty much just like bitch you thought you saw the last of me  
anyway let's be real, if naiads are known for drowning people for the hell of it, why would dryads be all cool and peaceful with people? Like tbh let all nymphs just really enjoying killing people lmao


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles had been so,  _ so  _ wrong when he had thought that Peter and Chris being together in the same room created the thickest tension imaginable. It turned out by adding his dad to the mix, the tension went up to a whole new level. Maybe it was because Stiles was finally able to smell it, hear the sounds of muscles tensing and hearts beating when he hadn’t been able to when all of this began.

Regardless, Stiles was pretty certain that the air dropped ten degrees when Noah uttered out a tense and chilly, “Peter.”

Peter’s smile was his perfectly cordial one that showed a little too many teeth and didn’t come anywhere close to his eyes. He held the door to his apartment open, but stood in the frame. “Sheriff Stilinski, what a pleasure.” The tone of his voice made it clear that it was absolutely not a pleasure. “Stiles told me he was thinking of bringing you over.”

“Sound less like we’re stabbing you.” Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved his way in. Even with werewolf strength, moving past Peter felt somewhat like trying to shoulder a brick wall down. “We solved the last issue your way and we saw how well it worked out, so this time we’re doing it my way.”

Peter gave him a flat, unamused look. “Well you’ll be thrilled to hear that Deaton agreed with me on this — even if it probably took a decade off his life to do so. You can even call him yourself if you don’t trust my word.” He took a step back, just enough to let Noah through without having to force his way in.

“We really don’t need to get the entirety of Beacon Hills involved with this,” Peter continued. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is you’ve invited the entire McCall pack over and I’ll have to argue with Scott for the next ten years over the necessity of killing them before they kill us.”

“Dear god are you always this unpleasant?” Stiles wondered how many times in the past his dad had been forced to be in Peter’s presence if that was the sort of question he was asking. All he could think of was that one time Peter had picked Stiles up for school.

“Short answer, yes. Long answer, Peter’s an insufferable drama queen who acts offended for twenty minutes anytime I bring necessary people into his apartment.” Stiles spoke up before Peter could. 

“I think you’ll find I can be absolutely lovely when I want to be,” Peter said, tone twinged with offense. “Maybe I’m tired of my apartment being the hangout spot for whoever Stiles wants to bring over at any given time.”

“Shut the fuck up, Peter.” Chris walked out of the office and scowled. “We get it, you want everyone to follow your plans exactly like you decide they should be. But guess what, you chose the wrong men to associate with for that.” Thank god for Chris, honestly, Stiles wasn’t sure what he would have done being tied to Peter without him. Stiles could keep up with the snark but he felt like only Chris ever had a shot at shutting Peter down.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Getting the police involved is a terrible idea seeing as the whole, oh I don’t know, dryad killing humans who look at them thing is the problem here. And how many people in the sheriff’s office are human?” He paused, Stiles guessed that it was for dramatic effect rather than waiting for an actual response. “Oh right, everyone but Parrish. Looking to thin out the ranks, Noah?”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “You can call me Sheriff Stilinski, Peter. Now how about one of you actually fully explains what’s going on to me so this human can work out a solution.” His words were clipped and annoyed. “Your plans in the past have caused too many sleepless nights and cold cases in the sheriff’s office.” Noah paused and fixed everyone in the room with a dry stare. “All of you are included in that, for future reference.”

“Well it’s absolutely perfect that none of the future murder victims in this plan are human are humans, isn’t it?” Peter raised an eyebrow and sat down on the back of his couch. “Dryads aren’t made of flesh and bone, they’re more like walking wooden statues. If anything it’ll look like some art students got incredibly creative in the Preserve.”

“Is that all we’re gonna get from you or are you going to be helpful for once?” Stiles asked, he barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

“I’m always helpful,” Peter said with a baring of teeth that could have maybe been called a smile. “You’re used to monsters that play by the rules of our world, but when you start getting to fey-adjacent or just plain old fey, the rules start changing.” He pulled out his phone and tapped a few things into it before he hit a button on the television remote and a mirror of his phone came up.

On the screen were scans of documents so old, Stiles wondered how they were scanned without crumbling into dust in the first place. Peter zoomed into one and then spoke, “The only bodies your department will have to worry about,  _ Sheriff _ , are the ones of any humans that stumble across the grove. Dryads, hamadryads, satyrs, they’re all humanoid in the loosest sense.” On the television was an old illustration with text in some foreign language, Stiles assumed Greek maybe. It showed a beautiful woman with the lower body of a deer and hair made of vines.

“I can assume that Christopher, Stiles, and I have garnered some good will with the unicorn and its entourage thanks to saving it from the caster’s control. I doubt that’ll mean much, but that, on top of not being human will at least let us not instantly become the newest trees in Beacon Hills.” Peter drummed his fingers on his thigh and frowned. “Honestly, I’d rather us not have to kill the unicorn since they’re rare enough as is, but unfortunately I rather like my apartment and would prefer not to relocate.”

“What sort of perimeter would you be able to set up around the Preserve?” Chris cut in. He scratched at his jaw and frowned. “If need be I can get in contact with some hunter contacts who’ve dealt with this sort of thing before, but I’d rather not start bringing a ton of hunters in thanks to, you know,” he motioned to the clawed fingers of one hand.

“Supernatural creatures don’t exactly come up in the list of options for the police. I told Stiles already, cordoning off the Preserve isn’t something we’ll be able to do.”

“Oh, it sounds like a great way to get curious, rebellious teenagers to risk their lives,” Peter cut in. “The solution here is to move fast before the problem gets worse.”

A muscle in Chris’s jaw twitched. “I told you this earlier, I want to get a full read on the situation before moving forward.”

“Every second we wait means more time for the problem to get worse. Here’s the full read: there’s a number of dryads and an uncorrupted but still dangerous unicorn hanging out in the Preserve. You know where it is and that means we strike tonight.” The annoyed tone in Peter’s voice made Stiles think that this was an argument the two of them had been having for the majority of the evening. 

“Stop, rewind,” Noah cut in. He was rubbing his eyes with two fingers and Stiles couldn’t blame him for getting a headache when dealing with Peter. “How many of these things are we talking?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Chris said with a low growl. His pale blue eyes flickered towards Peter. “There’s at least one dryad and potentially more, all I found is where the one we know of went.”

Stiles frowned and walked past Peter over to the island in the kitchen. He leaned over it and traced vague shapes in the granite as he thought. “I mean we struggled enough when it was just us versus the nutso caster and the unicorn. I don’t really want to do round two of that minus the surprise alpha caster and plus at least one but probably more evil tree people.”

“They’re hardly evil,” Peter scoffed. “They kill humans because they think humanity isn’t worthy of being in their presence. Are you evil because you swat down flies in your house?”

“Oh boy, more morality lessons from Peter Hale, serial killer.” If Stiles rolled his eyes any harder, they probably would have popped out of his skull. “Let me rephrase that for you, tree people who would absolutely kill ninety percent of Beacon Hills and turn them into trees. Does that work better?” Honestly, he didn’t care about morality, the dryads could have been angels sent from heaven above to smite the population of Beacon Hills and he still would have tried to stop them. He didn’t want the people he loved getting killed. 

“Spree killer is more accurate and those days are behind me now.” Peter paused and scratched his chin. “Though I’d consider the lives I took to have been karmatically just, seeing as they murdered my family and left me locked inside my own body for over half a decade. Either way, I’m much healthier than I was back then.”

“Thank you for the clarification, Peter,” Stiles replied dryly. There was a small scratch in the granite that he traced with a single finger. He couldn’t tell if it was from a knife or one of Peter’s claws. “I’m sure I’ll sleep better knowing the alpha werewolf I’m tied to is less of a killer than he was before. But unfortunately, that still doesn’t solve the baseline problem we’re looking at.”

He hissed out a breath and scowled down at the shiny, polished granite. “I don’t disagree with you thinking that we should strike sooner rather than later but there has to be something more that we can learn before walking in blind.” He didn’t like any of this, honestly. He was supposed to spend his break fucking around with Scott and gorging himself on turkey, not watching his dad, Peter, and Chris try to nicely work together and not murder each other.

_ Ugh _ .

“I can buy you a day to investigate if someone sets up an incident on the road that leaves to the Preserve. It’s not cordoning it off, but it should keep most traffic out of the woods,” Noah spoke up. “Get Derek and Chris in there for some tracking while Stiles works on research.”

Chris made a small noise of approval. “What sort of incident are you thinking?” He asked, brows knit together in a way that made Stiles think he was already coming up with a million different ways to get that road shut down.

“The sort of thing that can be investigated later — so not a car wreck.” Noah hummed as he thought. “How capable of ripping trees out of the ground are you?”

“Alone? Probably not, but if Peter or Stiles were able to help I think we could probably get enough knocked over to block the road.”

Noah nodded, “Do that and I’ll stay here and do some reading and make the necessary calls when you’ve got the road disturbed enough.”

“Stiles, go with Christopher. I shudder to think of what would happen if I let you and your father have free reign of my apartment.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t hide the bodies well enough?”

Peter’s lips twitched. “Oh they’re plenty well hidden. My sex dungeon, on the other hand, is behind a locked door and I know you just treat those as a challenge. I don’t want your father to have to explain to you what exactly everything in there’s used for.” He laughed under his breath, clearly amused by his own mind. 

“I feel like you really are the type of person to have a horrific sex dungeon,” Stiles replied. “Like, there are still rooms here I haven’t looked at. I’m not entirely convinced one of them isn’t a murder room or a sex dungeon.”

Peter flashed a grin at him, “All you’ve gotta do is ask, darling.”

“How about you show me some more resources on what’s coming?” Noah clapped Peter on the back with just a little too much force. “Instead of testing my patience?”

——

Stiles was getting really fucking tired of seeing the Preserve if he was being honest. At least he’d be able to take out his rage on some of the trees.

“It should be cool that I can rip trees out of the ground,” Stiles announced suddenly as Chris slowed his SUV to a stop. “Like, we have super strength and are about to literally rip full grown, massive trees from the earth to block off a road. That’s like literally one of the coolest things I can think of, but somehow now that we’re about to do it, it’s pretty much the opposite. At least it’s a fuck you to all of the dryads and shit.”

Chris chuckled his low, gravelly chuckle. “You can tear down some branches and write out dryads suck werewolves rule if you want. Really show these guys what they’re dealing with.”

Stiles grinned. “Do you have any spray paint? We could vandalize some other trees after that.”

“Unfortunately I’m fresh out.” Chris hopped out of the SUV and Stiles was quick to do the same. “I think they’ll be pissed enough by us ripping the trees from the ground so I doubt the spray paint would do much on top of that.”

Stiles made a disappointed little noise. “Damn, I was thinking of spray painting a mouth onto the tree and then have it sucking a dick.”

Well, he had time for works of art later. Maybe he could eventually learn chainsaw wood carving and carve out a tree getting fucked by a wolf or something. If he did that, he’d leave it outside the house as a gigantic fuck you to any dryad that decided to take over Beacon Hills. 

He thought up some more potential anti-dryad art projects as he and Chris walked about a half mile from the SUV. Paper sculptures, oil paintings, maybe even wood burning, all of those were potentials. But hey, he’d take just ripping out some trees from the ground since Chris was right, that would piss off the dryads. 

It didn’t make the base reason for them brute forcing trees out of the ground any less terrible, but he’d take his victories where he could.

Chris eventually stopped in front of a pretty big tree. It seemed half dead already and Stiles was surprised it hadn’t fallen to the ground during a storm. Well, might as well start easy.

“So are we just gonna grab and pull?” Stiles asked as he appraised the tree. He wasn’t actually sure how to go about ripping a tree from the ground.

“I guess,” Chris replied as he scratched at the scruff on his jaw in thought. “Probably grab it close to the roots and pull up. If that doesn’t work, we could probably knock it over.”

And, well, that was a good a plan as any. Stiles circled around the tree and chewed on his lower lip as he tried to find the best place to grab hold of it. He stopped opposite to Chris and watched where he put his hands, claws digging deep into the wood.

Stiles placed his hands a few inches from Chris’s and also let his claws out. Even knowing his strength, holding onto the tree, he didn’t feel like anything could rip it free of the earth.

“We’ll pull on three,” Chris said. His voice was distorted by fangs as he shifted fully to get out any extra strength that he could.

Stiles tightened his grip on the tree as Chris counted down. On three, they started pulling and Stiles grunted with the effort. He could hear roots snapping and the tree groaning as it shifted. Dead branches tumbled down and landed on the ground while Stiles idly wondered how many birds had nested in those branches in the past.

Just as Stiles was about ready to tap out, the tree broke free of the soil. It sounded like the death groan of an ancient beast as the branches shuddered and the wood creaked. Stiles had to back out of the way as it started to topple over to avoid being crushed. 

It felt like the ground itself shook as the tree finally fell across the road. Stiles and Chris stared at it for a moment before Chris spoke up.

“You up for another tree?” Chris wasn’t even sweating, because of course he wasn’t. Stiles’ neck was damp with sweat but his muscles weren’t trembling like they used to after he lifted even a small weight.

“Yeah, sure, we’re on a roll, let’s keep it going,” Stiles replied, dusting off his palms on his jeans. None of the other trees looked as waiting to collapse as that one had, but they could probably shove down some of the smaller ones.

“How many do you think we should knock over?” He asked as he followed Chris to another tree. 

Chris hummed. “Probably four more, but we’ll see.” He dug his claws into the tree and Stiles quickly did the same. They started pulling and the tree was much more stubborn than the last. Even though Stiles could hear roots deep under the earth snapping and pulling, the tree didn’t seem to want to pull free.

“I think we just need to shove this one down,” Stiles grunted out. He pulled his claws free of the wood and frowned at it.

The wind picked up as a few stray leaves fell down from above them. Chris looked up and matched Stiles’ frown. “Yeah, that might work better.” He paused for a moment and watched as the branches above them swayed in the wind. “I don’t like how much noise this is making.”

He wasn’t wrong, in the near silence of the late fall forest, they were the loudest things for miles. “Well let’s hope that if something comes to investigate, it’s a human and not a dryad,” Stiles said with a laugh. 

Chris raised an eyebrow. “I’ll love explaining why you and I are together and knocking over trees on protected land to the police.”

“I mean sophomore year I was busted for kidnapping Jackson so it’s not like it’d be the worst felony I was ever taken in for,” Stiles shrugged. He stepped aside from the tree. “But I’ll let you try and push it over to save myself from potential felony discovery.”

Stiles chose to take the huff of breath from Chris’s lips as an amused noise as Chris lined himself up with the tree. He took a moment to test the strength of the tree before pushing. Stiles watched as Chris’s muscles flexed underneath his shirt as he forced the tree down. Wood creaked and groaned and the ground was littered with old branches and the few leaves that hadn’t yet fallen from the tree.

The snap of wood was loud as the trunk finally had enough. As it splintered, the cracking wood sounded like gunshots before it finally fell down, bare branches whistling through the wind. It collapsed with a thundering noise and more branches snapped under its weight.

“Why is this literally the coolest thing ever and yet we’re doing it for the worst reasons?” Stiles groaned.

“Sorry to break it to you, kid, the world’s rough.” A grin twitched at the corners of Chris’s lips. “I’m sure that after all of this is over, Malia and Scott would love to go rip trees out of the ground with you, if that makes you feel any better.”

Stiles laughed while the wind picked up. “I guess that makes me feel a tiny bit better,” he said as he walked over to another tree that seemed like a good candidate for knocking over. Idly, he wondered if the wind would help him in knocking the tree over or if it would just make it more likely that he’d get crushed by the wood.

“So I just plant my feet to the ground real well and push, right?” He dug his claws into the wood, similar to how he had seen Chris do it.

At Chris’s grunt of affirmation, Stiles took a breath and started pushing against the trunk of the tree. At first, it felt like moving the tree was impossible, the wood stood firmly despite the force he was putting into it. Yet as he pushed, he could hear the noise of wood splintering. He doubted that he would have been able to hear the tiny noises if he had still been human. 

After a minute of pushing, he finally felt the tree finally start to give way. As soon as he reached that threshold of it starting to give in, felling the tree was easy. The wood screamed as it cracked and splintered and the tree fell over to a resting place on the road.

Yeah, he was gonna do this again in a less life or death situation. 

“So two more?” Stiles asked when the tree settled. “Or do you think this is plenty?”

“I think this is going to have to be enough,” Chris said slowly. His brows were drawn together and he was frowning. “There’s no way in hell that everything in a three mile radius hasn’t heard all of the noise we’re making.”

Stiles rolled his lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it as he scanned the surrounding area. The rustling of branches in the wind made it hard to tell what was noise from the trees and what was noise from anything else. The only scents he smelled were of deer, himself, and Chris, but he didn’t disagree with Chris’s assessment. 

“So no leaving nasty messages for the tree people in branches I’m guessing?”

Chris shook his head and walked over to Stiles. “Maybe next time,” he said as he clasped a hand on Stiles’s back and started to herd him back to the car. The image of a german shepherd popped up in Stiles’ mind as he looked up at the serious look on Chris’s face and the way his narrowed eyes scanned everything that moved in the area.

“So I know you said you’ve never dealt with them, but what sorts of weaknesses are we looking at with dryads?” Stiles asked in a low voice. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as they stepped onto the road and fidgeted with the empty wrappers in them.

“Fire’s a pretty good way to kill them,” Chris replied. He didn’t look at Stiles as he talked, instead he kept watching the shadows. “They should die if you can rip them apart and they can be poisoned as well. Wolfsbane and mountain ash won’t affect them, however.”

Stiles hummed, “Makes sense I guess, they’re nature spirits so it’d be pretty fucked up for them to be allergic to wolfsbane.”

“What about finding the tree they’re connected to and killing it?” He asked after a moment. 

Chris shook his head. “That’s hamadryads. I think if you managed to get a dryad into the middle of the desert or the ocean, far from any tree, they’d be weak, but just killing trees wouldn’t get you anywhere.”

The sound of a branch snapping made both Stiles and Chris whip their heads around. Any follow up questions Stiles had in mind were gone as he tried to locate the source. He sniffed the air but the smell of the road was overpowering, blocking out the subtle smells of the forest. 

“I really doubt that was a deer so at what point do we just bolt to the car?” Stiles asked quietly. His claws were out and he had to pull his hands free of his pockets before he ripped holes in them. The sound of his heart pounding was loud in his ears.

“Sooner rather than later,” Chris replied. Stiles watched as he pulled a pistol from his jacket and cocked it. “Stay towards the middle of the road, they’re going to want to stay as close to the trees as possible.”

Stiles nodded and started walking quickly. “It’s safe to assume they wanted us to hear them, probably do some dumb horror movie shit and check out the spooky noise in the woods.”

Chris laughed despite the situation. “Maybe you could start a successful horror movie career out of your teenage trauma. I bet a gruesome take on dryads and unicorns would be well received.”

“Or maybe a video game, be scared shitless as you try and not be murdered by sentient trees.” Man, he had a ton of potential successful media franchises he could make in the future. He just had to survive high school first.

His eyes flickered to the side as he heard the rustling of leaves, but it was only the wind sweeping through a small bush. Despite the claws on his hands, Stiles wished he had one of Chris’s guns. Even if he loaded up a bush up with bullets, it would have satisfied the fuck nature feelings he was filled with. 

Chris stopped in front of him, maybe one hundred yards from his SUV, and held out an arm for Stiles to stop too. “When I tell you to run, you’re running.”

“Good plan.” Stiles scanned the area, trying to see what had Chris taunt and ready for a fight. He saw nothing but a sea of trees. Wait, scratch that, he saw the massive antlers of a buck in the distance. The wolf inside him growled at the thought of chasing it down and feasting. He beat it back because yeah, now was not the time to go trapezing through the forest trying to hunt woodland creatures. 

The lights of the SUV flashed as Chris unlocked it before he put both hands on his pistol and aimed it into the trees. “Now, Stiles,” Chris barked out before he fired two quick shots.

Stiles took off, running faster than he had ever run before in his life. He focused on the road in front of him as he ran, not allowing himself to look back at Chris as he heard him fire off more shots. He hadn’t ever been one for doing what he was told, but he figured that running for his life when he was ordered to was probably a valid reason to break that habit.

He was maybe ten yards from the Tahoe when he tripped.

Stiles swore as he slid on the asphalt. He looked behind him to see what he tripped on and noticed a thick, green vine stretched across the road. Fuck.

He pushed himself back to his feet and snarled loudly, teeth melting into fangs. His eyes flickered around him and he saw movement at the edge of the forest. Every instinct he had was telling him to lunge at it, but Chris’s warning was loud in his mind. Stay on the road, they wanted to fight in the trees.

Thinking of Chris, Stiles’ eyes shifted to him and watched as he was locked in a wrestling match with what seemed to be a wooden statue, pistol thrown yards away from him.

The creature in the forest slowly walked out and fear crept down the back of Stiles’ spine. The way the dryad walked was just  _ wrong _ , their steps were quick and jerky, almost like an insect and the way the wood of their body moved and bent wasn’t right. There were no seams or joints like a puppet, the wood and bark moved just like flesh.

Stiles snarled louder and tensed his fingers as the dryad stepped onto the asphalt. Mushrooms grew up along their neck and vines tumbled down their head like hair.

“Stiles Stilinski,” the dryad spoke in a voice that sounded more like wind whistling through leaves more than words yet it was perfectly understandable. Their voice was neither feminine nor masculine and Stiles wasn’t quite sure how they spoke, they had no mouth, face a smooth mask. Where their eyes should have been, branch-like antlers began and stretched far past their head, a few golden leaves still held onto thin branches. “We have a message for your alpha.”

“Yeah and we’ve got a message for you,” Stiles growled in response. “Leave.”

They stepped forward, wooden hooves clopping loudly with each step. It took every ounce of willpower Stiles had not to take a step back as they stopped a foot away from him. He had to crane his neck up to look at them, they easily topped seven feet even without the antlers. “We hold no ill will towards you or your pack, child of the forest.” The dryad tilted their head as they inspected him. “Your pack saved Cerys from an eternity of corruption and she wants to pay her respects by allowing you to be the only werefolk under the protection of a unicorn.”

Stiles blinked, that wasn't the sort of response he had been expecting. Still, it wasn't something he wanted to hear. “She can pay her respects by going back to wherever she was before she came here. We don’t want to be under her protection, we do a good enough job of protecting ourselves.”

The expressionless face of the dryad stared back at him before they spoke up again. “You do not know what you truly want, this is an honor given to few outside of nymphs and satyrs. This land has been corrupted by untold darkness and the Nemeton is a fragment of what it had been. Cerys will set things right, you'll come to understand, my child.”

Stiles felt his lips pull back in a snarl and he wanted to sink his claws into the dryad’s lichen covered chest. “I’ll deliver your message but the answer’s gonna be to go fuck yourself. We done here?” When they said nothing, Stiles turned to stalk away to the Tahoe.

Before he could take three steps, he felt vines pull at his feet, rooting him to the ground. They grew faster than he could process, and before he knew what was happening, vines were wrapped around his legs up to his thighs.

“No,” the dryad sounded just as monotone as they had before and they wrapped a wooden hand around the back of Stiles’ neck as more vines wrapped around him. The more he tried to claw them off, the faster they grew. “It only takes one to deliver a message. The older wolf will bring the message to your alpha, you’ll come with us, Stiles Stilinski.”

“Like hell I will.” Stiles struggled against the vines as the stretched up his chest. “You’re nuts if you think I’m not going to bolt as soon as I can.”

The dryad didn’t respond to him, instead they spoke in a language that Stiles was certain belonged to the plants more than to any being of flesh and blood. Stiles followed where their head tilted to the other dryad who had Chris pinned down with thick vines wrapped around his arms and legs to keep him pinned to the road. Chris was struggling and snarling against the weight of the wooden nymph on his back. It was useless, the same way Stiles' struggling was. There was no escape from the twisting vines and the unnaturally strong grip of the dryads.

Chris’s roar, one that rivaled the roar of any alpha, shook the trees as the dryad carried Stiles deep into the Preserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, the next chapter (or chapters, more than likely it'll be at least two) are going to be told in Chris's PoV since Stiles is currently out of commission lol......... I'm sorry stiles for what I've done sdlfkasdklf


	15. Chapter 15

Chris snarled and thrashed as he watched Stiles be carried off by a towering dryad. He had heard their conversation, knew exactly what was happening, but the dryad he was fighting refused to let him get any closer. All he could do was watch while vines tightened around his limbs and Stiles disappeared into the trees.

“Ilara will not hurt the boy, we wish your pack no harm,” the dryad pinning him down said in their whispery voice. “So why must you struggle and fight, Christopher Argent?”

This was the problem with anything even vaguely related to the fey. They were utterly disconnected from reality; so high up in their bubbles that they never stopped to consider that maybe they didn’t know best, not even for the briefest of moments. These dryads thought that him, Peter, and Stiles would be far happier in service of the unicorn — Cerys they called her — than they would be left alone and so to them that was the truth. Struggling and arguing would never do anything to sway their minds. 

Sap-like, silver blood dripped down onto Chris’s neck from where he had clawed the dryad across the face. “Your alpha has three days to return here to the forest, we will find you if you run.” It wasn’t a threat, just a simple statement of fact. Dryads saw through plantlife, there was no running from them. “All returns to the earth eventually, none of humanity’s structures will stand forever. This town was fated to one day become forest once more, so why is this upsetting?”

“It would become forest in thousands of years after humanity has passed, not when there are still thousands of living, breathing humans inhabiting it,” Chris snarled. “How many humans have you killed so far?”

The dryad paused as they moved away from Chris. “What do the lives of humans matter? Should I ask how many monsters you’ve killed as a hunter?” Their voice, like wind through the leaves, carried despite the distance and soft tone as they continued walking. “Tell your alpha that we’re awaiting him. We’ll accept any others that he chooses to bring with him. But understand, Christopher Argent, any human that remains here will die. They will become the trees in Cerys’ forest, just like the woman whose corpse you tracked me from.”

Chris snarled, so this was the dryad who had murdered the jogger. He wanted nothing more than to rip them apart, rend them limb from limb. His claws chewed up the asphalt underneath his hands in frustration. “I’ve got a term for you,” the words were only halfway understandable, distorted by the roar in his throat and the fangs in his mouth. “No more humans die until these three days are up. You can disguise yourselves just like the hamadryads can; if a human stumbles upon you, do that.”

The dryad tilted their head before they bowed deeply. “You have my word, wolfhunter, my brethren and I will leave the humans in this town alone.” Although their time was monotonous and flat, Chris was fairly certain he was being made fun of, that the dryad was treating him like he was some toddler whose wishes you respected because it was amusing.

“If I find another body, there will be hell to pay.”

“There is no need to worry, Isonei does not go back on their word,” the dryad, Isonei, said and stood back to full height. “You have three days to return to the forest. Do not search for our home or for the boy unless you are coming to join us.” They paused and wiped a drop of blood from their jaw. “He will be loved and cared for, as will all of your pack. You can let Alpha McCall know that if he surrenders to Cerys, his pack will be allowed to roam her forest, but only the Hale pack will be under her protection.”

Lichen in the form of a long dress flowed as Isonei turned away from Chris and walked slowly into the forest. It was minutes later until the vines that bound him to the road loosened enough for Chris to pull himself free. 

The way he saw it, he had two options. He could run into the forest and get his ass kicked by an untold number of dryads or he could return back to Peter’s and break the news that he let Stiles be kidnapped to not only Peter, but also to Noah. Getting his shit kicked in sounded better than that. But unfortunately, there really was no choice.

Chris winced as he pulled himself from the ground. He could feel torn muscles mending when he started to limp back to his car.

He had three days to come up with a plan and he  _ really  _ didn’t like the odds they had.

——

“Where’s Noah?” Chris didn’t bother with greetings as he threw open the door to Peter’s apartment and strode in. Peter was leaning against the counter in his kitchen, glass of water in one hand and phone in the other. 

Peter looked up and cocked a brow. “He’s in my study, what’s wrong?” He was frowning and Chris knew he was smelling whatever bits of distress he hadn’t managed to fully compartmentalize away. 

That was the problem with being a werewolf, Chris found. All his life, he had become a master of compartmentalization; every tricky emotion that he couldn’t deal with at the moment, he would just put away and try to forget about. But now? Now there was a wolf in his brain that would search out all of those boxes and tear into them, ripping out every painful memory until Chris boxed it up again.

“The dryads have a message for you, for us, and they’ve taken Stiles.”

The glass in Peter’s hand shattered and Chris watched as his eyes turned alpha red. “I’m going to tear them apart,” he growled.

“Apparently because we saved the unicorn from the caster, we’ll get to live under her protection,” Chris spat out. “The dryads refuse to take no for an answer but I managed to get three days with them swearing they’ll kill no humans before they take us.”

There was nothing human in Peter’s snarl. It brought back memories of the night Kate died, the unhinged rage that burned within Peter to the point of consuming him. “There’s at least two of them, I’m guessing there’s three more back and waiting near the unicorn. In another week there’ll be naiads in every goddamn body of water.”

“Three days.” Peter picked shards of glass from his palm and the smell of his blood was overwhelmingly strong in Chris’s nose but it wasn’t quite as strong as the smell of his rage. “Three  _ fucking  _ days.” 

“What happened?” Noah was still holding a book, reading glasses perched on his nose as he walked out of Peter’s office. His face darkened when he saw Chris was without Stiles, “Where’s Stiles?”

Chris shared a dark look with Peter before he spoke up. “We got a few trees knocked down before I started getting the feeling we were being watched. I was jumped first and Stiles almost got to the car before another dryad got him.”

“Jesus, is he—“ Noah broke off and Chris could smell the sour scent of distress pouring off of him.

“They said they won’t hurt him. Peter and I have three days to mull over the fact that they want us to join them under the protection of the unicorn.”

“I’m going to burn that entire forest down if that’s what it takes to get him back,” Peter snarled in a low voice. “I don’t know how much unicorn parts sell for on the black market, but I’m going to make a fortune after I rip it apart with my claws and teeth.”

Chris had no doubt in his mind that Peter would murder whoever got between him and Stiles. He shared a look with Noah, one that spoke volumes. Maybe Peter wasn’t the type of unhinged that could only come after painfully restoring your body a single cell at a time over six years, but the vicious scorched earth policy Peter had towards anyone who wronged him was still there.

“Chris, call Deaton. I’m going to talk to Melissa and have her let Scott know.” Noah already had his phone out. “We’ll need to get his pack involved, I don’t think Scott will be able to argue with killing the dryads now that they have Stiles.”

Chris could tell that Peter wanted to fight, to argue that he didn’t need any other pack’s help. Yeah, Chris wasn’t going to have that. “We’re not going to be able to handle this on our own and you know it, Peter.” He paused and ran a hand down his face. “Honestly, getting Satomi Ito and her pack involved might not be a bad idea.”

“Letting the pack of teenagers in on taking back  _ my _ beta is pushing me enough, Christopher, and they have a claim to wanting to help him. If another alpha who doesn’t have a connection to Stiles gets involved, I can’t be held liable for any throats I rip out,” Peter said in a low voice. He moved to the sink to clean the blood from his hands. “And I will make this extraordinarily clear; Scott will defer to me on this. He’s not in charge, he’s not making the decisions.”

“Scott’s not going to like it,” Noah said and shook his head with a frown. “But I don’t disagree with you on deciding that you should be the one leading this. But there’s one thing, you are not going to put any of these children in extreme danger.”

“You’ve read the books, Sheriff, you know that just existing by the dryads, they’re in extreme danger,” Peter huffed out a sardonic laugh. “But I’ll not purposefully lead them into death traps.”

Noah stared at Peter for several long moments. Chris knew that there were few people in Beacon Hills that wanted to shoot Peter more than he did. Peter continuously put his son in danger and seemed to be allergic to showing even a semblance of respect, it wasn’t hard to understand why Noah couldn’t stand him. “Get him back safely, Peter,” he finally said, frown still pulling at his lips.

Peter narrowed his eyes in appraisal. “I protect my pack,” he replied. There wasn’t a trace of his usual mocking scorn in his voice, only fury that burned so hot that it felt cold. 

Chris almost felt sorry for whatever dryads Peter managed to get his hands on. Almost, but when Chris remembered the sight of Stiles being carried off by Ilara, he lost any semblance of pity.

After all, he knew he was going to be just as vicious as Peter was in getting Stiles back. Any protective or caring thoughts he had about Stiles before being turned had been amplified by the wolf in his brain. He clenched his fists and felt claws threaten to slice open the flesh of his palms as a vicious, protective urge washed through him. 

There was going to be no mercy from neither him nor Peter.

——

Stiles felt like he was going to go insane from boredom. After the shock, horror, rage, and fury all wore off, he had come to the horrible realization that he was stuck in a fucking grove teeming with dryads, hamadryads, and satyrs with nothing to keep his mind occupied.

He had never been good with boredom, having ADHD was a curse that gave him a need to constantly stimulate his mind by searching out new information. He was constantly researching, from the smallest concept that popped up in his mind to what the effects of wolfsbane poisoning on humans were. But in the grove? Yeah, he was pretty sure even mentioning books would have been a grave offense to the people literally made out of plants.

He was free-ish to walk around. There was a ring of mountain ash around the grove that the dryads had no problems crossing but kept Stiles penned in just as effectively as steel walls. And sure, the hamadryads and satyrs kept trying to get Stiles involved in their dances and merriment but he had a hard time getting in the mood for celebrating the attempted destruction of his home.

As for the dryads, there were maybe six of them and they were all just as alien and unsettling as the one that had kidnapped him. Ilara, that was their name, and they seemed to be the leader of the group. The dryads rarely deigned to speak in any language Stiles could understand, mostly they communicated in that same whispery, wind through leaves way that he had heard Ilara talk to the dryad who had been fighting with Chris, Isonei, right before they had kidnapped him. 

When they did speak to him, they sounded like fanatics. They talked of the poison of humans, of burnt land and rained earth. They wanted to rid him of his ties to humanity, they were convinced that was the way for his true happiness.

Stiles sneered when they talked like that but it didn’t affect them, nothing seemed to. Even when he had been snapping twigs, equally out of sheer boredom and a malicious urge to piss one of them off, all he got in return was a cold, wooden hand on the small of his back.

“Watch the skies, wolf child,” the smallest of the dryads, Daeria, who seemed to be made of the wood of a spruce tree and whose face seemed more feline than human with a thick, leonine mane of pine needles, spoke and pointed at the canopy of branches above them. “Instead of focusing on the dead and fallen branches, look at the living ones reaching far above. Listen to the songs they sing as the wind passes through.”

Stiles made a conscious effort after that to not look at the highest branches of the trees. It was stupid and entirely from petty spite, but he wasn’t going to listen to what any of his goddamned captors told him to do. And it just continued on like that, as the minutes slowly turned to hours, all of his small attempts at protest were met by the dryads acting like they were parents indulging a misbehaving child.

And honestly, he might have been a child to them, he didn’t know how long dryads lived for. He hadn’t seen any true instances of immortality, but he knew werewolves lived decades longer than humans did. Maybe the fey blood in dryads allowed them to live for centuries. Either way, he wasn’t going to let them continue to run his life.

Dawn was just beginning to creep in when Stiles sat down against a massive oak tree and started scratching symbols in the dirt with a branch. He wasn’t tired, it was like the wolf in his brain wouldn’t let him relax fully enough to feel tired with all of the uncanny enemies around him. So he decided to make use of the time and try and recall any spells that might have been of use.

The main problem came from the fact that Stiles had no clue how many of the spells he had memorized he could actually use as a werewolf. His days had been filled with learning control, working on magic was something he had planned to work on over Christmas break. The other problem was that he didn’t have any materials for spells so he was down to only a handful of spells that he could theoretically do if the magic and his wolf wanted to play nicely together.

There was a spell for encouraging plant growth which, uh, yeah no thanks. He didn’t even want to scratch out the symbols for it in case he suddenly had more goddamned plants to look after. Not to mention the dryads probably would have taken it as a sign that he was actually super happy to be with them. Bleh.

There were some other pretty useless ones like some spells that summoned light and ones that let him melt metal with a touch. He was sure to keep them in mind because he knew his luck and eventually he’d probably be kidnapped by, like, evil robots who lived in the deep dark or some shit.

It left him with only two potentially useful spells. There was one that let him summon lightning and another that consumed water to start fire. Chris had said that dryads were vulnerable to fire so that was probably his best bet. The problems he had, though, were that with the lightning, spell he had barely mastered control over it before he was bitten and Stiles didn’t see any water around the grove for him to soak the dryads in to set them ablaze.

But a little hope was better than nothing. So Stiles scrawled out the symbols again and again as dawn finally broke and sunlight began to bathe the grove. He prayed that Chris and Peter were able to come up with a better plan than his desperate grasp at the first idea he could come up with. 

——

Chris stared at the granite of Peter’s countertop and frowned. He had picked up some coffee on the way over from his apartment, but the scent of it, over roasted and too bitter, was making his stomach roll. 

“I was ambushed by Scott, Isaac, and Allison when I got home last night.” Chris looked away from the countertop and met Peter’s gaze. “I think Isaac had already been there, screwing around with Allison.” He made a face, hating the images that popped up in his mind. “But Scott had apparently decided that since he doesn’t know where you live, I was the best person to shake down for answers.”

“Thank god he doesn’t know where I live. I feel like he’d blame me for this, still so convinced that I’m the bad guy here.”

“I wonder why he’d think that.” Chris shot Peter a flat look. He said that, but honestly, Chris had Peter figured out. He wanted three things; power, freedom, and for his pack to be safe. It was stupid to think that Peter wasn’t dangerous, but, surprisingly, he wasn’t actually looking into being the big bad guy. There was no doubt in Chris’s mind that if the benefits outweighed everything else, Peter would be happy to be the villain again. But he wasn’t the type to just stupidly jeopardize his pack.

Especially not Stiles.

In the beginning, Chris thought that Peter had only seen the kid as a useful piece in his big puzzle. But now, when he was pacing in his kitchen, barely containing the scents of distress and fury? There was no denying to Chris that Peter cared for Stiles on a level far deeper than he wanted to consider. 

“I had to threaten to knock them unconscious and lock them under the high school for the kids to listen to me,” Chris said in an attempt to stop the uncomfortable train of thought he was on. He tried not to think too deeply about anything he felt about Stiles, he didn’t want to start juggling Peter in there too. “Scott wanted to rush the forest to get Stiles out of there that evening.”

Peter barked out a laugh. “That would have gone well, I bet the dryads would have loved the pet wolf they’d have turned him into.” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. “This is why I’m controlling this attack plan. I don’t need overconfident and undereducated children running in head first.”

Chris grunted. “I explained that to Scott but he’s twitchy about it. Can’t say I blame him, I’m twitchy about this too. One dryad’s bad enough news and we’ve got several to worry about on top of the unicorn.” 

“What did Deaton say when you talked to him?” Peter asked.

“Nothing concrete,” Chris said with a shake of his head. “He’s worried about Stiles too and he’s touching into the ley lines to see what information about their numbers he can pull from the impact of their magic on them. But otherwise, he just confirmed a lot of what I already knew about dryads.”

Peter huffed out an annoyed noise. “Any hunter contacts?”

“None that can make it in time. A couple were able to make suggestions at least.” Chris leaned against the countertop and frowned up at the ceiling. “We’ll want fire for the dryads, is that something you’re comfortable with?”

Peter was silent for a moment and Chris watched his face. There was a tiny crease between his brows that Chris had come to learn showed up whenever Peter was nervous. Fuck, he was spending too much damn time with Peter if he was picking up on that sort of thing.

“You can handle the fire, I can’t,” Peter said. 

“God, we’re two completely fucked up men, aren’t we?” Chris said with a harsh, bitter laugh.

“I think whatever god is out there likes to see how many things we care about it can take from us before we tear the world apart.”

And that’s the truth, wasn’t it? Chris had lost damn near everything. Victoria, Kate, Gerard, and he had nearly lost Allison too. There were only a few Argents left alive and and none of them were willing to talk to him. “Sometimes I sit down and wonder if I’m cursed to fuck up and ruin everything I love, honestly,” he said slowly. “It’s as if my family has so much blood on its hands that eventually it all just collapsed.”

“When I was healing from the fire, all I could think about was why had I been the one to survive?” Peter wasn’t looking at Chris as he spoke, his face was turned to stare at an empty wall. “All of my siblings died yet I was still alive, if just barely. I had loved all of them, loved all of my nieces and nephews, on a level that I don’t think I could ever verbalize.” He shook his head, eyes closed.

It was the first time the two of them had actually talked about their losses. Usually, they had skated around the topic, unsure of where their uneasy truce would have ended up if they had broached the uncomfortable subject. Even when they were throwing jabs at each other, they had stayed away from it. The wounds were still too raw to pry open. 

So Chris was surprised at how it wasn’t pity or guilt over his sister’s actions that he felt at Peter’s words. Instead, he was just filled with understanding. It was possible that Peter was one of the few people in the world that Chris could fully relate to when it came to loss. It was a frightening and weirdly sobering thought. 

“I’m done with loss, Christopher.” Peter turned his pale blue eyes to Chris and frowned. For once, Chris knew there was no lying, that Peter was speaking the honest truth. “Stiles is  _ mine _ , he’s pack. I don’t need fire, I’m going to tear the dryads apart with fangs and claws.”

Chris nodded before he responded. “You can do that, I’m sticking with fire. I have incendiary rounds and some other fire starting gadgets at my apartment.” Yeah, he respected Peter’s dedication to personally attacking the monsters that threatened his pack, but he wasn’t going to go in without his guns. Peter could say that made him a terrible wolf all he wanted but Chris vastly preferred the weight of a gun in his hand over just claws.

“Let me guess, you have a flamethrower in your arsenal,” Peter replied, single eyebrow raised.

Chris paused, he did actually have a flamethrower but the scorn in Peter’s voice made him say, “No, I’m talking about incendiary grenades.” Which, to be fair was what he had been considering bringing in the first place. Flamethrowers weren’t exactly easy to maneuver quickly in and weren’t precise enough for his tastes.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Guns, grenades, they’re all such overkill if you ask me.”

“I did not, for the record,” Chris said in a dry voice. He walked out of the kitchen and flopped down on Peter’s couch. “Anyway, what’s overkill is the fact that I know you’re planning on tearing the dryads into hundreds of pieces.”

“I like to do a thorough job,” Peter said with a shrug, not denying it. He followed Chris over the couch and sat next to him, leaning his back against Chris’s shoulder.

That was something that had taken Chris time to get used to when they were staying in the cabin together. Peter had been constantly touching him, from something as tiny as a hand touching the small of Chris’s back as he walked past him to rubbing their cheeks together if Peter had decided that he didn’t smell enough like him to full on cuddling with him when they were watching TV. 

Logically, Chris had known werewolves were exceptionally tactile creatures, especially with their pack, but Peter Hale cuddling while watching a car show? Yeah he wouldn’t have pictured it in a hundred years. But he couldn’t deny that the wolf in his head loved it, it adored touching and being touched by its alpha.

So he had gotten used to it, to the point where when Peter laid against him, Chris automatically wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he turned on the tv. “There’s gonna be a meeting at Derek’s place in four hours,” he said while he flicked through channels. “Scott’s pack will be there, same with Noah and Parrish, today’s a surgery day for Deaton so I doubt we’ll see him.”

“Put on HGTV, Flip or Flop should be on,” Peter said. As Chris keyed in the channel number, he continued, “I’m going to rip out Scott’s throat if he tries to lead this.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Give the kid some credit, Peter. I explained this shit to him last night and he’s willing to back down. He wants Stiles back just as much as you do and he’s not gonna jeopardize that in some dick measuring contest with you.”

Peter frowned, “I doubt it would be much of a contest.”

That got Chris frowning too as a memory he had tried painfully hard to repress flashed up in his mind. It involved Allison, Scott, his kitchen table, and far, far too few clothes. He had been so thankful to sell that thing when he and Allison had gone to France because he hadn’t been able to eat there without seeing Scott McCall’s naked ass.

“It’s really not,” Chris said with a grimace. He tried to force those memories back down before he felt the urge to see if Deaton could fit another neuter into his schedule that day. 

Peter laughed at his anguish but he quickly got back to the actual topic. “Lydia, Allison, Noah, Mason, they’re not coming along for this. They can help plan, but they’d just be liabilities in the fight since Lydia isn’t a fighter and the dryads would kill any human before we could do anything to stop them.”

Chris had a hard time disagreeing with that logic. “We’ll need to hit fast since the dryads will know something’s up before we even get there.”

On screen, Tarek was tearing down a wall in some old, run down house. Such an utterly mundane activity in contrast to how they were talking about launching an attack on dryads. It made Chris wonder what it was like living life completely blind to the supernatural world. It was probably nice.

“I have a few ideas to take care of that,” Peter replied. “But ideally we’ll get all of the dryads taken care of before we have to deal with the unicorn.”

“From one impossible challenge to another.” Chris pinched between his eyes as he felt a headache building. He didn’t know a single hunter who had managed to kill a unicorn, for the most part they were told to not even try since the chances of coming out on top were so slim. A group of werewolves, kitsunes, and werecoyotes probably had a better chance but, god, those chances were still so damn slim.

He felt a jolt of worry come up as he thought of Stiles alone, surrounded by the dryads. Even if they said they wanted him safe, what dryads thought of as safe was so far from what actual safety was. Chris clenched his fist and grit his teeth, he needed Stiles out of there.

Peter grunted, “Hardly impossible but it won’t be easy.” He narrowed his eyes at the TV. “Jesus, the tile they’re putting in is horrible. Why the hell don’t they just go with hardwood?”

“I’d rather have tile than hardwood in a living room. A beautiful hardwood floor would be ruined in minutes if you have kids throwing themselves onto your furniture.” He paused, “That tile is pretty hideous though.”

“Hideous is an understatement,” Peter said with a snort. He tilted his head to look at Chris, “Stop worrying about Stiles before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” Chris rolled his eyes and looked at Peter. “Maybe if you started actually showing people you cared about them, everyone would stop thinking you were some monster.”

Peter raised a brow. “Last I heard, I was a monster, I’ve got the claws, the fangs, and the sociopathic tendencies to prove it.”

“You’re hysterical.” Sarcasm dripped from Chris’s voice like water through a broken pipe. “You’re a horrible person but — you know what? — you’re also not as bad as you pretend to be.”

“What a winning endorsement, do you have any more backhanded compliments to give me?” Peter asked, eyes narrowed.

Chris hissed out an annoyed breath. “I’m trying to say that maybe if you actually stopped pretending to be some supervillain, Stiles would actually trust you.”

“And what about you, Christopher? Do you trust me?” Peter had that tone in his voice, the one he had every single time he flipped his mask of unfeeling back on. 

“Surprisingly I do, because you got what you wanted. Your family’s avenged, you’re an alpha again, and you’ve got a pack of people just as willing to bend the rules as you are.” Chris frowned at Peter, brows furrowed. “You’re a manipulative bastard who thinks he’s so much better than everyone else, but I also know you wouldn’t hurt me or Stiles, not anymore.”

“You sure do know how to give compliments.”

“I’m not here to be gentle with you, I thought everything we’ve done together has proven that to you by now.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and screwed his eyes shut. On the TV, Christina was talking over the choices she made for the tile backsplash for the kitchen in a cheery voice. It was normalcy that had never been an option for neither him nor Peter. “Today you’re gonna have the opportunity to show everyone that you actually care about someone other than yourself — that you care about Stiles.”

“And what about you?” There was scorn in Peter’s voice, but it felt weak. “What are you going to do when everyone puts together the way you care about him?”

Chris clenched his jaw and scowled at Peter. “They’re not, stop trying to turn this around.”

Peter laughed bitterly. “So much advice for me and yet you’re just as much of a shell held together by zip ties as I am.” His eyes flicked back to the TV, away from Chris. “I’m going to play nicely today, I’m not putting Stiles’ safety at risk.”

Chris sighed and tightened his arm around Peter’s shoulders, recognizing that was about as good as he was going to get with him. He tried to let the mindlessness of the television relax him, but he struggled to stop his mind from worrying. It was only when Peter put a hand on his knee and gently rubbed with his thumb, probably feeling his anxiety over the pack bond, that he managed to calm his overactive mind.

“We’re not letting them take him from us,” Peter said. It felt like it was more for his own sake than anything.

Chris said nothing. He just closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against the top of Peter’s head. There were still three hours left before they were supposed to meet at Derek’s loft and time felt like it was crawling. But Peter was right, they weren’t going to let anything keep Stiles from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Peter are two emotionally stunted men who keep trying to give each other advice on embracing and understanding their emotions and it just ends horrifically every single time they try it.  
Also if you haven't read the [sidefic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467182) yet, when Chris says “I’m not here to be gentle with you" you can see what he means by that in there lol


	16. Chapter 16

The loft was a ball of tension, heavy and suffocating. It made Chris twitchy in a way he wasn’t used to, all of the scents and smells so overwhelming. Everyone there smelled of anxiety and fear, fear that all of them were too young for.

When Chris looked at Scott’s pack all he could feel was a deep sadness. They were children whose innocence was stripped away before they could even understand what was happening. All of them were poisoned by loss and the thought made even the simple act of swallowing difficult.

“Hey, dad,” Allison wheeled over to him and the same guilt that always twisted his insides when he saw her reared its nasty head. She was lucky to survive, Chris had been told by countless doctors and nurses after she had been stabbed by the Nogitsune’s Oni. 

If Chris had been a better father, she would have been far away from that danger. She should have been far from the danger that was currently haunting Beacon Hills. 

“Hey, kid.” Chris buried the guilt as well as he could with an overgrown dog that liked digging up every repressed emotion in his head. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Allison in an embrace and inhaled the familiar scent of her hair. It grounded him, keeping the wolf calm in his mind. She was his daughter and its pup. She was his anchor.

Before he could stop himself, Chris closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against hers, scenting her briefly. The first time he had done that, he had been mortified, he hadn’t been able to control himself. But it was a type of weirdness that Allison was used to, as surrounded by werewolves as she was.

Chris pulled away when he heard Peter walk into the loft. They had driven together but Peter had gotten a call from a contact who had dealt with dryads in the past as they pulled into the lot.

“Anything helpful?” Chris asked.

The frustrated look in Peter’s eyes was enough of an answer. “She said that we’d have better luck abandoning Stiles and running.” He let out an annoyed growl and his eyes flashed alpha red for a brief moment. “I told her she could take her advice and shove it up her asshole.”

“It’s a wonder you still have contacts willing to work with you.”

Peter gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m highly effective at what I do and most of my contacts would refer to me as quite charming.”

“I’m sure that they do.” Chris scanned the room, counting heads. Allison must have gotten a ride from Lydia because the only ones there aside from her were Noah, Parrish, Lydia, Malia, and Derek. Surprisingly enough, Melissa was there as well, standing with Noah and Parrish. He checked his watch with a frown, there was still half an hour until the meeting was supposed to start, but he wanted everyone there sooner rather than later.

“Scott’s picking up Isaac, Liam, and Mason.” Allison must have noticed the way he was looking around. “Kira texted me ten minutes ago that she was on the way.”

Chris grunted out a noise of acknowledgement and watched as Allison wheeled back over to Malia and Lydia. Peter had walked to Derek and they were talking in low enough tones that Chris would have needed to strain to make out the words. He didn't try, whatever they were talking about, he’d probably hear about later.

So Chris joined Melissa, Noah and Parrish. Parrish looked mildly uncomfortable being there and Chris couldn’t say that he blamed him. 

“I didn’t expect that you’d come, Melissa,” Chris said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t just want to sit at home and tear my hair out in worry so I had Noah pick me up,” Melissa said with a nervous laugh. “Stiles is pretty much my kid, I think Noah could say the same about Scott. So I just wanted to be here in case I could do anything to help.”

Chris flashed a tight smile. “You and Noah can keep an eye on Allison and Lydia and make sure they don’t try and play the heroes.” He had no doubt in his mind that if Allison thought of something, she’d go out and put herself in danger. It had worked back with the alpha pack but werewolves made sense, even insane ones like Deucalion had been. Fae didn’t make sense, trying to logic out never worked with them.

“Do you know what Peter’s plan is?” Noah asked. Chris followed his eyes to where they landed on Peter’s back. 

Chris shrugged. “Bits and pieces, for the most part he just said he’d explain things here. Probably a lot of fire and praying we get lucky.”

Noah frowned deeply and ran a hand down his face. “I think I liked it better when I thought the biggest danger to this town would be an angry white kid with a gun.” 

Chris’s responding laugh was bitter. “Or a suspicious amount of mountain lion attacks.”

His eyes were still on Peter and he watched as Derek clasped Peter’s shoulder before he walked away. Chris didn’t think that he had ever seen Derek willingly touch Peter before, usually he treated him like he had the plague or that his sociopathy was contagious. 

Before he could think too deeply about the potential implications of the tiny touch, he heard a frantic heartbeat and the fast little tapping sounds of footsteps quickly running up the stairs. Kira rushed into the loft, hair disheveled and sword strapped across her back.

“Sorry, sorry I meant to be here twenty minutes ago but mom was concerned about this and so I had to explain to her and dad that yes I did need to go, no I didn’t need them to come along and—“

“Scott’s not even here yet, you’re chill,” Malia cut her off and laughed. “Plus you’re still like fifteen minutes early.”

Chris tuned out their conversation as it dissolved into chattering about how they thought if Scott was ever on time to something he’d literally combust. He snorted and turned back to Noah. “I think we’re gonna use today to plan and then make the attack tomorrow.”

“Thinking of the attack, why me?” Parrish asked. “I mean, I’m happy to help and I want Stiles back safely too, but my hellhound skills are still pretty much a mystery.”

“Another warm body that wouldn’t be immediately killed, I guess,” Chris replied with a shrug. “I’ve got guns and incendiary grenades so at the very least you’re a trained marksman.”

“It’s so fucked up that guns and grenades are part of your response to tree people,” Melissa said and let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not fucked up that you’re planning on killing them, I get that as a nurse I should be all for saving every life, but they took Stiles.” She paused and collected her thoughts. “But what I mean is that they’re these ancient fae things made out of wood, right? And somehow they’re still vulnerable to bullets.”

“Things dying from getting shot and having grenades lobbed at them makes a whole hell of a lot more sense than half the shit that I’ve seen these kids deal with.” Noah shook his head and he looked tired. 

“It’s less of the bullets and more of them being incendiary rounds, unfortunately.” A dripping noise distracted him and his eyes scanned the room until he located the source. A pipe was steadily leaking a slow stream of water. He stared at it for several seconds until he snapped himself back to focus. “They’re vulnerable to fire, they should hopefully go up like dry tinder.” That’s the ideal situation at least, he didn’t add. 

Chris strained his ears to see if he could hear Scott coming in Melissa’s car, but he heard nothing beyond the dripping pipe. He frowned, he wanted everyone to be at the loft so they could start planning.

“Chris?” Noah’s voice brought him back to the moment.

“Shit, sorry, I was trying to see if I could hear Scott but Derek has a leaky pipe and it’s really distracting.” Chris rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “What were you saying?”

“It’s not what we were talking about, but how are you handling the whole, you know,” Melissa pantomimed fangs and claws, “Werewolf thing?”

Chris let out a slow breath. “It’s not easy, I was raised on lessons about how werewolves are vicious, mad beasts who kill indiscriminately.” He paused and leaned against the pillar behind him as he mulled over phrasing. “That type of indoctrination, it’s a poison that’s hard to clear away. Realistically, I know werewolves aren’t like that now, but every time I felt my control slip, those lessons came up in my mind again and again.”

“Two years ago, if I had been bitten I would have killed myself without a single question.” Chris laughed bitterly and looked towards Allison who was laughing at something Malia said. “How fucking terrible would that have been, that Allison would have lost both of her parents because they thought it was nobler to kill yourself than become a werewolf?”

There was a concerned look on Melissa’s face and Chris knew that she wanted to say something to reassure him that no, he wouldn’t have been that bad of a parent. He shook his head and spoke up before she could, “I was brainwashed by my father into thinking that it would have been better for everyone if I had killed myself. I would have done it.”

“Oh he absolutely would have.” The fact that Peter’s footsteps were still so silent to him, even with his enhanced hearing, sent a cold shiver down Chris’s spine as he thought about the days when he had been only human and still so conditioned by his father. 

Chris had been a member of Beacon Hills the same as the Hales and his sister back before the fire and his blind loyalty to the hunting code had been impossibly strong. He and Peter had butted heads more than once and it had been as if Peter had gotten pleasure out of seeing just how far he could push him. If Peter had really wanted to, he could have slaughtered Chris with an ease that he only came to fully comprehend after having his own body transformed by the bite.

Even if Peter was his ally, his pack, his alpha, there would always be a part of Chris that was on edge around him. It was the simple truth that every single part of him was an apex predator and the reminder that Chris had been transformed into one as well. Before the bite Chris had been a hunter but he had never been the predator.

“Christopher is so eager to martyr himself, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought.”

“Thank you for the analysis of my psyche,” Chris said dryly. “I’d return the favor but I think it’s in everyone’s best interest not to dive too deep into thoughts about your mental state.”

Peter flashed him a grin. “Because we’re so similar?” His tone was dangerous and playful at the same time. But that wasn’t the problem — that was simply one of Peter’s defaults — the problem was that he wasn’t wrong. For all that Peter made him nervous, Chris still understood him on a level deeper than he understood most people.

Peter had been the enforcer of his pack the same as Chris had been for his family. They were the men who got their hands dirty, the ones who did what needed to be done to keep things safe according to a code only they followed. Peter took an eye for an eye, a life for a life and Chris hunted those that hunted us.

Neither of them lived lives that frequently led to healthy, well adjusted men. 

Yet despite all of that, “I think my mental state is unquestionably healthier than yours.” The look Chris fixed Peter with was beyond withering. He wondered if Peter was somehow allergic to being pleasant and personable when the situation called for it.

Peter made a small grunt and moved his eyes from Chris to Parrish. “What extent of your powers have you managed to unlock, Deputy?”

The uptick in Parrish’s heart rate as soon as Peter addressed him nearly made Chris snort out a chuckle. He was clearly uncomfortable and looked to Noah first before he spoke up, “I can flex the claws, not burn alive, and find the nearest dead body that wasn’t given a proper burial.”

Peter looked unimpressed. “Ah yes, all of the skills of hellhounds that are entirely useless in the current situation.” He paused and inspected his nails. “Turn around and let me see the back of your neck.”

The loft fell silent as every eye fell onto Peter. 

“Peter,” Chris said in a low, warning tone. 

“The risks of what I’m about to do are low. If I didn’t have the stellar control that I do, paralysis or death  _ would  _ be a concern. But as younger mister Lahey will be able to testify whenever he decides to arrive, I’m quite adept at this.” He flexed his claws out and ran his thumb along them.

Noah clenched his jaw and frowned deeply. “And the point of this is what exactly?”

Peter looked up from his nails and met Noah’s eyes. “Our young deputy doesn’t know the first thing about his potential. I’m going to show him the truth of hellhounds.”

“Jesus, can you just answer a question clearly for once?” Noah barked out. He crossed his arms across his chest and met Peter’s eyes. “I don’t know much about all of this werewolf magic shit but for some reason, giving you access to a deputy’s mind sounds like a horrible idea.”

“You’ve done it, Sheriff, you’ve figured out my devious plot. I’ve done all of this just to get into the mind of one of Beacon Hills’ finest.” Peter slowly clapped his hands together. “Deputy Jordan Parrish is who I was after all along, all so I could see the schedules of the cops who’d be doing speed traps.”

“No, you were after Stiles all along.” It was Lydia who spoke up. There was no trace of the vapid, shallow mask she had worn for so long of her any longer. She didn’t need to hide behind it, not when she had finally come into her own in a way that even people with a decade on her were still struggling to.

“You’ve wanted Stiles ever since he turned down the bite and now you’ve had him for five minutes before he was taken from you.” There wasn’t a challenge in Lydia’s tone, she just said the words like she was speaking a simple fact. “You want our help getting him back? Tell us the actual truth, Peter.”

“Some things are impossible to explain in words and are easier translated through a mental link.” Peter was still running his thumb along his claws as he looked at Lydia from the corner of his eyes. “All of you can stop clutching your pearls, if I wanted to manipulate our dear, charming deputy, I could do so just as easily and more successfully in person.”

Peter paused and looked around the room before his gaze stopped on Parrish once again. Chris felt rooted to the spot, unsure if he should stop Peter or just sit still and watch how everything played out.

Interestingly enough, Parrish’s heartbeat, which had been so nervously fast before, was now calm and steady. “If you do anything funny in my mind, the sheriff’s department is mysteriously going to be missing an entire clip of ammo this month.”

Parrish turned around, baring the back of his neck to Peter and before anyone could protest, Peter sunk his claws deep into Parrish’s spine. Both men let out gasps and their eyes glowed with an intensity that was far past the norm of shifted wolves. 

The still in the air of the loft was only broken minutes later when the sound of an engine turning off in the parking lot was followed by three heartbeats racing up the stairs. Peter and Parrish were still tied together, Parrish mumbling words in some old, dead language and Peter staring sightlessly ahead of him.

“What’s going on?” Scott was the first one to enter the loft and he stopped in the doorway. Suspicion colored his voice as he asked, “What’s Peter doing?”

“Just wait,” Chris replied. His eyes were glued to the two men who could have been statues for how little they moved. Even Parrish’s jaw hardly moved as he continued mumbling. “I don’t want to see what happens if this gets interrupted early.”

The nervous beating of Scott’s heart sounded as loud as his footsteps to Chris as he walked closer. “But what  _ is  _ this?”

Chris let out a breath and paused. “Peter said he’s showing him his full potential.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I believe that Peter has no reason to try and ruin Parrish,” Chris said slowly in response. Peter hadn’t mentioned anything like this to him but he wasn’t stupid enough to try and do anything to directly harm Parrish in front of so many people.

“I don’t trust him,” Isaac spoke up.

“Good, you’ll keep your back free of knives that way,” Chris replied. He watched with rapt interest as Peter’s free hand began to twitch. 

Sweat beaded on Parrish’s brow and whatever words he spoke were coming out faster and faster. Even if Chris hadn’t understood their meanings, he had been able to hear each word distinctly before, but not any longer. The words began to blend together as they left his lips in a single, seemingly endless breath. 

Peter’s hand ripped free of Parrish’s neck and immediately the two men fell to their knees and retched. But while Peter emptied the contents of his stomach onto the concrete floor, Parrish vomited what looked to be lava. 

The smell of bile was quickly overpowered by that of smoke despite the seemingly clear air in the loft. Chris stood and watched, unsure of what else he could do, as Parrish continued to vomit out molten rock and his clawed hands melted the concrete beneath them.

“What did you do?” Scott snarled low and picked Peter up by his shirt collar. Bile still dropped from Peter’s lips as Scott slammed him against a pillar.

“I made Parrish useful.” Peter’s voice was rough and his eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed Scott’s wrist with a clawed hand and squeezed hard. “He’s still the same golden boy he was before, don’t worry about that, I’ve just helped him wake up his powers.”

Scott looked from Peter to Lydia and then back to Peter. “The last time you did that, it didn’t go so well.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and smirked. “I would have to disagree with you there, everything worked out just as I had wanted it to.”

“Enough,” Chris barked out in a low voice. “Antagonizing every supernatural in Beacon Hills isn’t playing nice and working together, Peter. Scott, put him down and back off.” There was a quiet, rumbling growl from Scott but he released Peter’s shirt and stalked back to where Isaac, Liam, and Mason were standing. 

Peter wiped the bile from his lips with the back of his hand and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The redness of his eyes faded quickly into nothingness and color returned to his face as he walked from the pillar and away from where Parrish laid on the floor, no longer vomiting but now shaking like a leaf.

“I don’t know how much of the story all of you are aware of.” Peter spoke like nothing had happened in the room. “But Stiles was taken by a group of at least two — and likely more — dryads who have taken up residence in the Preserve after a unicorn decided to claim it as her land.”

He stopped in the center of the loft and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes were narrowed into thin slits and they scanned across the room. “Neither of them are cute friendly forest folk who want to hold hands with you and sing songs. They are immensely powerful creatures that will gladly slaughter anything they perceive as a threat.”

“The only reason they’ve abducted Stiles instead of slaughtering him like the woman in the Preserve is because they believe they owe my pack — Christopher, Stiles, and myself — a favor for saving the unicorn from a lifetime of twisted servitude, corrupted into a mockery of itself.”

“So what about the rest of us?” Malia was the first to speak up.

“They’d graciously allow the McCall pack to roam their forest but they wouldn’t be under their protection like my pack.” Peter paused and barked out a laugh. “They’re arrogant, the type of arrogance gained from being the most powerful creature in the room.”

“Well that makes me feel much better.”

Peter looked at Malia and raised a brow. “It’s what makes it possible for us to kill them. They’re not stupid, they expect for Christopher and myself to fight this, but it’s the way a parent would expect their toddler to throw a tantrum. It would be annoying and loud, but over without much harm.”

When Malia didn’t speak up again, Peter continued, “Derek and Malia, as my family you will come with Christopher and I to the Preserve. It will be easy to believe that you joined my pack so your presence wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. The rest of you — Scott, Isaac, Liam, Kira, and Parrish — you will lag behind and follow us to the grove. From there, light them on fire or rip them apart, whatever’s easier.”

There was silence for a brief moment before Kira raised her hand. “Question, if these things are like sentient plant people who see through all of the plant life around them or whatever, how exactly do we sneak up on them?”

“A distractor spell,” Chris quietly spoke up as the realization dawned on him. “Do they affect fae?”

“They affect anything that can perceive their surroundings. They’re not as effective on things like dryads that don’t see with their eyes, hear with their ears, or smell with their noses, but they can still muddy their senses up enough to get them in.”

“Can we roll back to what a distractor spell even is?” Kira asked slowly. “I’m not the only one who doesn’t know, right?”

“Putting it simply, whatever the spell is placed on, your mind can’t focus on it. People, places, items, you just ignore and avoid.”

Derek shook his head. “That’s putting too much hope on those spells.”

“You know firsthand how effective they are, Derek,” Peter replied. “There are very paths I could choose to follow here and this is the one I see having the most success.”

“Can’t we reason with them?” Scott cut in with a frown. “They came from somewhere, they can go back there.”

Peter snorted as if he couldn’t help himself. “These things aren’t human, Scott. They weren’t raised within the moral sphere of humanity, they’ve existed in the wild since before man first tamed fire. There’s no reasoning with beings whose base concept of reason is so far removed from yours that you can hardly begin to comprehend it.”

“These things are a threat to the lives of the entire town,” Chris added. “Even if they moved on, we have no idea if they’d go back to where they came from or if they’d take over another forest in another town. The safest course of action here is to eradicate them.”

It didn’t surprise Chris that Scott took issue with killing the dryads. There was a reason so many packs needed left hands, alphas were supposed to look for treaties and arrangements to ensure the protection of their pack and other packs. Talia Hale had been a prime example of that and it was why Chris had always felt a sort of respect for her, even when he had believed that werewolves were nothing but feral monsters.

But this wasn’t a time for alphas to find peace. It was the same reason why Chris had agreed to work alongside Peter all those weeks ago; if it would save lives, killing was necessary.

Scott’s frown deepened but he voiced no more objections. Chris wasn’t sure if Scott would be able to kill when the time came down to it, but that didn’t matter. If Scott wasn’t able to deal the killing blow, Chris was certain that he would.

“Any more objections to killing them all? No? Good, now the way that they’ll die will be if you tear them into shreds or if you use them for a bonfire.” Peter clasped his hands together and tilted his head towards Parrish. “If our dear deputy is back with us, he’ll be the greatest help in terms of lighting the dryads up. For the rest of you, lightning is also quite useful at starting fires, they’re vulnerable to our claws, and Christopher has tools for starting fires.”

Parrish groaned and Chris looked over towards him. His eyes were glowing an orange so bright that it almost hurt to look at but he wasn’t vomiting lava anymore. “What did you do to me?” He asked, laboriously moving to a sitting position.

“I’ve unlocked your true potential,” Peter said quietly in an almost thoughtful tone. His eyes were narrowed as he watched every twitch of Parrish’s muscles. “Just like Lydia, you needed a spark to light your fire and I just so happened to be that spark. You’re a hellhound, you were made to roam the fiery pits of Hell and chase those who have escaped Death’s clutches. Before you were a shell, you weren’t hurt by fire but you couldn’t control it. Now flames listen to you and you alone, you can find the dead and lead them gracefully to the afterlife, you’re something rare and beautiful.”

The look on Peter’s face was something akin to awe. Peter was a man whose life had been changed by flames time and time again and Chris knew that he would leap at the opportunity to control them. While Chris watched Peter help Parrish stand up he wondered just how long it would be until Peter tried to bring the deputy into his pack. The days of alpha packs in Beacon Hills were long gone and as Chris looked around the loft, seeing kitsune, banshees, hunters, werecoyotes, and hellhounds, he couldn’t help but think that so were the days of traditional werewolf packs.

In Beacon Hills, life needed to change and adapt. The Nemeton forced it to with all of the supernaturals it drew like moths to a flame. For all the things Chris could say about Peter, he was intelligent and adaptable. Not to mention, in his quest for bringing the most powerful people into his sway, he also was bringing in more chains to tie him down to morality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops sorry it's been a couple of weeks since I updated lol. I ended up being out of town last weekend and then this past weekend I had my boyfriend over so I wasn't super productive lol  
next chapter... shit's gonna go down owo


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles knew something was different as soon as he heard silence. It’s not like the grove had been loud exactly, but the hamadryads and satyrs were constantly talking in their low voices and the dryads themselves had conversed in their language that sounded like wind through leaves. But on the morning of the third and final day, all conversation stopped.

He looked up from where he was sitting against a tree, tearing grass from the ground and shredding it into thin fibers. The dryads were standing in a circle and Stiles’ brows drew together as he watched them. They weren’t talking but they were doing  _ something _ , he just wasn’t sure what that something was. 

The bored, ADHD goblin part of his brain was thrilled by the fact that something was different. The more reasonable part of his brain — and the less reasonable canine part — was less thrilled. Different wasn’t good. Different meant change and change wasn’t what he needed. Not with beings whose logic he didn’t understand.

Claws sprang free from his nails and he dug them into the dirt. It didn’t take long for his mind to draw a connection to it being the final day that had been given and the sudden change. He still hadn’t figured out a surefire way to take down the dryads but if they were about to do something to hurt his friends and the rest of Beacon Hills, he was going to at least try to stop them.

Stiles watched cautiously as one of the dryads, Ilara, the one who had captured him initially, broke free of their circle and approached him. They took slow steps and Stiles held back a shiver. The way the dryads moved still unnerved him deeply. There was just something about it, watching as unmarred bark behaved like flesh with the unnatural way the dryads moved. It was just so wrong that it just filled his stomach with dread.

Stiles had seen werewolves and werecoyotes, kitsune and oni, druids and darachs, so many supernatural beasts yet somehow none of them were able to invoke the same apprehensive, gut twisting feeling that simply watching a dryad move invoked in him. He thought back to the Nogitsune and wondered what would have happened if it had entered into a conflict with the dryads. The Nogitsune, it had been a damn near unstoppable force of pure, primal chaos and darkness, yet the dryads seemed like primal chaos as well, just on the side of the light and nature.

“Son of the wolves,” Ilara said in their whispery, wind through reeds voice. They bent down and extended a single wooden hand. Lichen and moss crawled up their arm and draped down like a long, flowing sleeve. “Join Ilara as they have something that you must see.”

Stiles stared at the extended hand and then turned his eyes to where antlers grew from the dryad’s eye sockets and glared. “And if I refuse?”

Ilara tilted their head and knelt down next to him. “What of the appearance of the children of the trees is it that bothers you?” They placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and he shuddered, unable to stop himself. “Ilara and their kin have seen the way you seem pained when you look at us. We would never hurt you, not when Cerys has claimed you as she has.”

“That’s really reassuring,” Stiles said dryly. “I love being claimed by a fucking horse and its psychotic moving statues.”

Stiles’ words had no effect on Ilara. Just like every other time he had insulted or tried to slight any of the dryads, they didn’t even seem to parse what he said. “Would it make you more comfortable if Ilara glamoured themself?”

“It would make me more comfortable if you’d just leave Beacon Hills and let Cerys treat that as her favor to my pack.”

“Stiles Stilinski, you know that is no option. Cerys has claimed this territory with the Nemeton as hers to protect. None would protect the sacred tree as well as a unicorn and her guard of dryads.” Their hand moved from Stiles’ shoulder to rest on his cheek, bark rough fingers stroked at the soft skin. “Corruption has touched the Nemeton and now it’s only a shade of its former self but Cerys and Ilara and their kin will make things right.”

Stiles shook his head. “You’re going to murder or displace thousands of people and yet you still think that this is the correct course?” He pulled back from the dryad’s touch.

“Humanity is a corrupting force, much the same as the dark kitsune. The darach Julia Baccari was a daughter of Eve. Yet in months, her darkness tainted the sacred wood even deeper than the Nogitsune did in decades.”

Ilara stood up and looked down at Stiles. “Stand, Stiles Stilinski, and follow Ilara. Today is the day that your pack will try and resist Cerys’ protection, the trees whisper of their intent.”

“What, are you going to restrain me or something?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Put me in a hostage situation so Peter and Chris have no choice but to surrender?”

“Ilara has no such plans. Cerys wishes to converse with you, child. There is no trick or cruelty planned.”

There were two choices Stiles could have made; he could fight and scream and protest or he could save his energy. Both choices would have led to the same conclusion, having to look at the fucking unicorn again, just with one leaving him with more energy than the other. Realistically, he knew that he needed to save up as much as he could for when Peter and Chris showed up. So as much as it hurt his pride, Stiles stood up and scowled at Ilara. “Fine,” he spat. “Take me to the fucking horse.”

——

On the morning of the final day, Chris woke up sweltering with his own personal space heater wrapped around him. It was like the nerves over Stiles’ being gone and the planned attack made Peter even more of an octopus than normal. He grunted and started to push Peter off of him, a nearly futile task. It was amazing how Peter could not only grip so hard in his sleep but also stay incredibly dead to the world while Chris pried him off.

Chris ran a hand down his face as he got out of bed, he needed to shave but he had been so caught up in everything going on that he had just let his scruff grow out the past few days. If they ended up surviving all of this, he was looking forward to trimming down the beard. 

He looked down at Peter, who had taken to suctioning onto a pillow in his absence, with a frown. It wasn’t like Peter had planned the whole catastrophe, but Chris didn’t like how he was taking advantage of the situation to start manipulating pieces into place. Chris had absolutely zero doubt in his mind that whatever shit he had done to Parrish had deeper repercussions than just unlocking his true hellhound potential.

All it took was one look at Lydia to be reminded of the shit Peter had pulled with her and how he claimed that he had awoken her powers and anyone with half a brain would know Peter and “unlocking potential” was a deal almost always heavily weighted in Peter’s favor. But in such a short timeframe with creatures Chris had never hoped to hunt, there was no time to slow down and try and find other options.

Chris threw on one of Peter’s shirts and headed to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. He couldn’t want to go back to his own apartment, not liking how fucking domestic all of this felt when he ignored the whole saving Stiles from wooden monstrosities thing. He hadn’t even intended on staying at Peter’s place overnight but Peter had insisted in his own Peter way.

Nothing screamed great night’s sleep quite like spooning with a man you still didn’t entirely trust not to stab you in the back.

Peter walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, lured by the smell of coffee. He grabbed a mug Chris had gotten out for him and filled it. It was only when he was halfway done with drinking it that he looked towards Chris and spoke, voice still rough from sleep, “You look like you’re about to march to your own funeral.”

“Any other observations you’d like to make?”

Peter just smirked at him and took another sip of his coffee. After a moment he said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles has already figured out a way to murder the dryads, honestly. There’s a reason I’ve wanted him on my side for so long.”

“And what exactly is your side, Peter?” Chris finally asked the most important question. “You and I both know you’ll never be content with just having Beacon Hills as your territory.”

“My side is what it’s always been, strength.” Peter stared at Chris, eyes dark. “I want the strength to take back what has been my family’s for generations, I want the strength to protect it, and I want the strength where no one would dare try and take anything of mine again.”

Chris laughed sharply, not believing for even half a second that having the strength to protect his territory was all Peter would want. “I’ll buy that you want the strongest people to have the same interests as you, but that’s not the entirety of it.”

“What do you want me to say, Christopher? That I want to take over Beacon Hills, then the United States, and finally the world?” Peter set his mug down and folded his arms across his chest. “What I want is to be a strong alpha who is feared and respected in the supernatural community. I’m not planning on murdering children and pillaging villages to get my rocks off.”

“The last feared and respected pack that waltzed through Beacon Hills was Deucalion’s absolutely batshit pack of alphas.” Chris ran the tip of his thumb along shortly trimmed nails and met Peter’s flat gaze. “I trust that you don’t want to hurt Stiles, I even almost trust that you wouldn’t hurt me, but I genuinely do not trust that your idea of being a strong, respected alpha is one who controls only the ancestral land of your family.”

Peter shook his head and clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Maybe one day I’ll try and stretch my territory or maybe I won’t, but if you think I can get away with evil plots with you and Stiles as my betas, you’re wrong.” He let out something almost akin to a laugh, it was a harsh noise. “I might have been as insane as Deucalion once, but that was after six years in a coma with my mind filled only with thoughts of revenge. I can assure you that I’m  _ much  _ healthier now.”

“I feel so reassured.”

“You should, you and Stiles have become my very own ball and chain protecting me from myself.” The tone of Peter’s voice was one that Chris wasn’t a fan of, too dry and sarcastic, but he couldn’t deny that Peter wasn’t wrong. Even if he pushed his influence over them as their alpha, that wasn’t something he could do for eternity, and both Chris and Stiles had moral compases that pointed more correctly north than Peter’s. But there was still something that Chris didn’t like.

“What’s your plan with Parrish? I know that you didn’t ‘unlock his potential’ or whatever shit you’re claiming out of the goodness of your heart.”

“It’s true that I had to… speed things up.” Peter looked down at his hand as he spoke and cleaned the already spotless nails with the point of his clawed thumb. “I had wanted to dangle out bits and pieces of his potential powers over the course of several months to see how strong he’d become and get him to trust me. The way I had done it last night was dangerous and there was a potential that he would have cooked himself alive, I could have unleashed too much, too fast, but it was a risk I was willing to take.”

Peter paused as he walked across the kitchen to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. “I’m sure you know that hellhounds are relatively rare — on this plane of existence at least — and the likelihood of him finding an actual mentor is approximately zero. I’d be willing to wager that I’m the person with the best knowledge of them in five hundred miles.” He pushed Chris aside and set a frying pan onto the stove. The smell of natural gas was unpleasantly strong in Chris’s nose until the flame lit. As Peter cracked two eggs into the pan, he continued, “So I had been planning on mentoring Parrish for months now and I wanted to avoid clawing his neck for it, but Stiles is in danger and I need all of the strength possible on my side to get him safely back. Werewolves are strong, I’m especially strong, but the one the dryads will be afraid of is Parrish. He’s made of fire, now that I’ve awoken his abilities they can’t even touch him without turning into ash.”

The look in Peter’s eyes was icy cold and dead serious when he met Chris’s gaze. “Do you want to know what my side is right now, Christopher? It’s protecting the people I care about and I will rip apart  _ anything _ that stands in my way or puts them in danger.”

——

The path that Ilara took Stiles through was unfamiliar to him, with dense foliage that grew denser as they went farther and farther away from where he had been kept the past few days. The Preserve had been utterly transformed in the area, looking like something straight out of a fairy tale. But probably the actual original Brothers Grimm ones, with evil tree people who would rip apart any lost children who wandered into the gorgeous forest.

Stiles wasn’t sure what would happen when all of this was over. People were going to notice that suddenly a huge swath of the Preserve was filled with ancient growth that had popped up over the course of a few days. What would the explanation for that be? Radical new experimentation against deforestation and invasive species of plants?

His train of thought was cut short when Ilara stopped in front of him. They turned to face him and tilted their head. “This is where Ilara takes their leave, the Lady wishes to speak with you alone. Rest your hand upon her horn and she will commune with you. Go forward and She will be waiting for you.”

Stiles had about a million questions but he knew approximately zero of them would be answered by the dryad if he asked them. So he just rolled his eyes and walked past them. No point in wasting his breath.

He got his first good glimpse of the sky when he walked into a clearing, it was overcast and the soft light made everything look almost ethereal. The air was colder in the clearing than it had been in the rest of the forest he had been walking through and the trees seemed more touched by the season here. 

Claws burst free of his nail beds when he heard the rustling of leaves to the side of him. He turned to look and saw the giant head of the unicorn emerge through the trees. His breath was taken away at the sight of her massive form. No longer did she have oily black fur and a thorned, amethyst horn. Instead, the unicorn, Cerys, she was beautiful and terrible, still massive and muscular, body like a draft horse but so much larger than any Stiles had ever seen before. Her fur glimmered in a faint, pearlescent sheen under the softened, late fall light, and her mane was like molten gold.

The only imperfection to her perfect form was her horn. It was straight and the same unbelievably pearly white as her fur, yet the tip was shattered and jagged, a remnant of when Chris had shot at her.

Cerys was beautiful and Stiles was terrified.

She stopped in front of him and for several long moments the two just stared at each other. There was the abstract fear that came when looking at the dryads, they were so alien and unlike anything else he had ever seen that fear was the only response his body could come up with. But when looking at Cerys, the fear was different, it was solidified in a way that came from the knowledge he had of her. He had seen her rip into humans, he had read the records of people who stumbled into her — at least he assumed it had been her — territory. 

As breathtakingly, unbelievably gorgeous of a sight that Cerys was, it was all a mask over something more brutal and dangerous than even Peter at his most unhinged had been.

And somehow he was going to have to kill this monstrous horse. 

Slowly, Cerys blinked at him and lowered her head so her horn was close to Stiles. He was unnerved but he reached up to grab it, wanting this meeting to be over with as soon as possible. 

“I know you are unhappy, Stiles Stilinski.” Cerys’ voice reverberated in his mind, sounding old and young all at once. “But please understand the love I have in my heart for you and your pack.”

“If you loved us, you’d go back to your old grove.” Great, it was just going to be a rehash of all of the bullshit the dryads wanted to spill.

“I had been planning on moving on from my old home for a long time. My kind fight corruption and darkness, we purify nature that has been tainted by humanity, if it was not your town I would have settled into another. Humans would be killed and displaced as nature reclaimed its land.” Stiles felt something akin to regret coming from her, but it was a faint flicker of emotion. “My constructs, my children, my soldiers, the ones you call dryads, they let the trees sing their song of regrowth as they wipe away the poisons.”

“Tonight either you will be dead or my pack will be dead,” Stiles said bluntly in a flat tone. “I don’t think you understand how seriously Peter Hale takes people coming after what he sees as his own.”

Cerys blinked and her tail swished. “Your entire pack fascinates me, Stiles. Your alpha and his second have both lost so much and you have been touched by darkness yet still survived.”

She paused as she laid down, taking Stiles to the ground with her. “You and I are connected in that way. You were swallowed by the darkness of the Nogitsune and you came back just as I had been corrupted until you undid the spell that bound the darkness to me. I do not think that any other living being in this world fully understands what we have been through.”

“Well that’s great, we’re united in the sisterhood of the traveling darkness, but I’m still not on board with the whole ‘turn the Preserve into some magical mystical fairy forest and drive out all of the people of Beacon Hills’ plan. Seriously, there’s forests in worse states than the Preserve. Go to the Amazon and tear apart all of the logging companies there or something, I’m sure Cora Hale would be happy to help you.”

Cerys shook her head and let out a whinnying snort. “Beacon Hills has the Nemeton, for decades it had been dead and now it is once again alive and thrumming with primal power. The children of man and the children of wolves had been allowed to guard it once and they let it perish, let it fall and be tainted. It is now my time to guard the Nemeton, to watch over it and the forest it is surrounded by.”

“Okay, I get that, and Ilara has said the same shit, but consider this; it’s only awake because my friends and I sacrificed ourselves to it and it’ll go back to being inactive again. There are other Nemetons in the world, guard them instead.”

“You are tenacious, young wolf.” Stiles had the distinct feeling that Cerys was laughing at him even if the words she spoke to his mind had no real inflection. “It has been a long time since my will has been challenged. My constructs obey me without question so it is almost amusing to hear your protests.”

“I’m really not enjoying how you and the dryads act like you’re a parent indulging their toddler when you speak with me.” Annoyance thrummed through Stiles and the anger of the wolf flared up in him like a forest fire. “You gave Chris and Peter three days to prepare an attack on you and the dryads, I can promise you that you are going to regret that as soon as all of those wooden monstrosities get thrown through wood chippers.”

“Insulting you isn’t my goal, but you must understand my frame of view. I am older than many of your countries, I have slain countless intruders into my land over the hundreds of years I spent in my old grove. Some were human, some were werewolves, I have even slaughtered a nogitsune who thought she could taint the purity of my grove with her darkness. You will not succeed in any attempts at besting me and it’s a waste of your time and energy to try.”

Cerys nuzzled at Stiles’ neck with her soft, velvety snout and Stiles shivered at the touch. “I admire you, Stiles, and I know in time you will come to understand and respect me. Your attachment to this town is sweet, but it will fade in time. Dance with the hamadryads and the satyrs, converse with my dryads, accept and love them like they accept and love you. That is the path that will lead you to happiness, not the poison of humanity.”

Maybe he would be happy if he accepted this. Stiles couldn’t detect any lies from Cerys, every thought she projected to him felt honest and earnest. Eventually, if he just gave in and ran with the wooden creatures of the forest, he would come to love it. But that wasn’t the life that he wanted for himself. He didn’t want to live a life in a forest that stretched over the grave of Beacon Hills, coddled and loved by a unicorn and her creations. 

Even if Cerys said it was impossible, Stiles knew the only way this would end was with her pearlescent coat soaked through with silvery blood and with the ashes of dryads mixing with the soil of the Preserve.

“Maybe so,” Stiles said with a genuine smile that pulled at the edges of his lips. The clouds had begun to let loose and he felt the wet droplets of fat raindrops against his arms.

It was exactly what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter... some ass gets kicked.  
Also! If you haven't seen, I've started writing a [stetopher fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837537/chapters/54581605) because I had an intense need for peter hating chris, blaming him for the hale house fire, and then feeling progressively worse and worse as chris's life starts collapsing and then stiles worms his way into everything. Check it out uwu


	18. Chapter 18

Thick smoke billowed from between the trees. Had it been the summer and not raining, Chris might have suspected a wildfire. But it was pouring and had been pouring for hours, any tinder, even in the thickest part of the Preserve, would have been soaked through. 

He looked towards Peter and fought the temptation to look back towards the hidden group following them. “Parrish?” He asked in a hushed voice, low enough that even he could hardly hear. There was a dryad ahead of them, it wasn’t one that he remembered from the night Stiles was taken. He didn’t want to risk them hearing anything of their plan.

If the dryad was alarmed by the smoke, they didn’t show it. Chris supposed that emotions were difficult to show when your face was essentially a chunk of wood with no facial features. Even expressionless, he would have expected them to have hurried up at the very least. But no, they continued on at the same unworried pace which meant one of two things. 

Either the fire starter was already taken care of or the dryad was confident that it would be taken care of before the group got there. 

Peter shook his head in the faintest of motions. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he paused, as if he reconsidered it. After his pause, quick as a flash of lightning, he darted forward and dug his claws into the wood of the dryad’s neck. Before they could even react, Peter ripped the wood apart, silver sap pouring from the splintered wood.

“Change of plans,” he said as he threw the now lifeless chunk of wood to the ground. Chris knew that internally, Peter was trembling in fear. He could just start to feel the heat of the flames against his skin and to Peter, fire had never been a friend. But his hands were steady and his eyes were clear and filled with a fire of their own as he looked towards Chris. “Unless some camper left their fire unattended in the downpour, it seems that Stiles has started the party without us and I don’t think it’s polite to keep him waiting.”

——

So maybe using his hands as the final component of the fire starting spell hadn’t been the best idea in the world. Sure, the entire grove was on fire and three of the dryads were already ash thanks to the number of sigils he had sketched out into the dirt, an unquestionable win, but there was a teeny tiny problem with it.

Namely the massive burns all over his hands and arms, all the way up to his biceps. Sure he had knocked out a good chunk of the dryads but his chance of personally taking any of the others out was about zero.

The pain of the burns still hadn’t quite registered in his brain, the adrenaline thrumming through his veins didn’t let it parse quite yet. He wasn’t looking forward to when it finally hit him, but if he survived long enough to suffer through the pain and healing, well, he wouldn’t complain. At least not too much.

Stiles let out a low snarl as he inspected the grove. The fire was continuing to spread, pushed on by the rain. The more soaked the trees got, the harder they burned. It felt like a furnace in the grove and the air was thick with smoke, enough that he idly wondered if werewolves could choke to death. 

“Ungrateful child.” Oh great, Ilara was still alive. He was hoping that he would have already turned them to ash with the first wave because they seemed to be one of the stronger dryads. But of course, because he was leaning on luck, it gave him a big middle finger and left the room.

“How long did it take you to figure that out?” Stiles snapped back at them. “Was me repeatedly telling all of you that I didn’t want to be the pet of a psychotic unicorn and watch my home be turned into a shitty magical forest not clear enough for you?”

Ilara looked furious. Well, about as furious as a faceless slab of wood could look. Their posture was tense, like they were ready to pounce at any second and rip Stiles apart limb from limb.

Stiles raised his charred arms in front of him and braced himself, all the while praying that the burns would heal just a little bit quicker. He didn’t like his chances against Ilara, especially not as tendrils of fresh new growth began to slowly climb out from underneath the ash.

Just as Stiles was about to start praying to whatever deity that was listening, a blur of fire and fur flashed in front of him and the tendrils of growth immediately turned to ash as Ilara was tackled.

“Get back, Stiles.” Holy shit Stiles had never thought that he’d be grateful to hear Peter’s voice barking orders to him. But here he was, almost about to cry from relief as Peter stalked in front of him in his full alpha shift. “McCall, watch over him.”

“How many are left?” Scott asked as he gently grabbed Stiles and pulled him towards the edge of the grove. His alpha red eyes glowed in the firelight, turning almost orange.

“Three were burnt up when I first cast the spell, one went to pick Peter and Chris up and I’m assuming is dead somewhere, that leaves two dryads and Cerys — the unicorn.” Stiles winced as Scott set him down. The pain was starting to kick in, blinding and burning. He looked down and saw black veins tracing down Scott’s arm and wondered how bad it would be without him taking some of the pain away.

More filtered into the smoke filled grove and Stiles could only really make out the glowing eyes. Three sets of blue, he could only assume Malia, Derek, and Chris, and countless more glowed a bright amber. But there was another form that glowed like a torch through the haze. 

“Peter did something and unleashed Parrish’s full potential or so he said.” Scott must have followed Stiles’ gaze — that or he knew how much Parrish stood out. “I’m pretty sure if he stayed put in one place he could melt through the whole planet, kinda good for fighting wooden things, I guess.” There was a bitter tinge to Scott’s words and it didn’t take much guesswork to figure that Peter probably hadn’t given much of a choice to Parrish.

Smoke and ash burned at Stiles’ eyes but he refused to let himself close them as he watched Peter’s hulking alpha shift lock in combat with Ilara. The fire weakened the dryad, they were summoning new growth but it was weak and charred up quickly as the fire intensified around Parrish.

But that didn’t mean they were powerless. Despite the embers that flickered on their wooden body, Ilara was still a powerful foe and it seemed like it took Peter’s entire strength to fight them. 

“I still don’t trust Peter,” Scott said softly as the two of them watched Peter’s fight. “But… he seemed worried over the past few days. Like, almost scared.” He laughed under his breath, “I don’t think it was intentional, but it was probably the most emotionally honest the guy’s ever been in his life.”

“Oh?” Stiles had always pictured Peter as a person who guarded his feelings with several layers of VPNs. He redirected and misled enough that even Peter himself might not have known how he really felt about things.

Scott shrugged. “I guess it’s the same shit that had him terrorizing the town sophomore year. His pack was messed with —  _ you  _ were messed with — just this time he didn’t murder any family members or turn any teenagers. He just worked with us.”

Stiles turned his eyes from the fight to inspect Scott’s expression. It seemed thoughtful more than worried, like Scott was pondering the way Peter had gone from someone who would have gladly killed him and the entire supernatural population of Beacon Hills for his revenge to… well, Stiles wasn’t entirely certain that Peter wouldn’t murder everyone in a ten mile radius if he felt slighted, but it felt different.

Scott ran his free hand — the one not occupied with sapping away the pain from Stiles —through his hair. “Weirdly enough I think he actually cares about you.”

“Yeah because he thinks I’d be useful to him in his taking over the world schemes,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

“Maybe.”

The complexities of Peter Hale’s relationship to emotions and other people wasn’t something Stiles really wanted to consider at the moment. Not when getting killed by two murderous dryads and a unicorn was a very likely possibility. 

—— 

Chris’s eyes watered in the smoke, the heavy smell of it muddled his senses, made it difficult to get his bearings. He was standing next to Parrish which felt slightly less skin searing than standing next to the sun.

“Find the other dryads, I’m helping Peter,” he ordered as he stalked off further into the flames, gun drawn. Stiles was okay, keeping him that way was priority number one. Priority number two was making sure Peter didn’t get slaughtered by a walking wooden statue. Or a unicorn. He wanted to laugh at how bizarre his life had become, working with Peter, making sure Peter stayed safe from creatures so rare that even other hunters might have thought they were fairy tales.

If they were fairy tales, they certainly weren’t the watered down versions from Disney. No, these dryads were the type of fairy tale where the big toes got chopped off and the princess turned to seafoam without her happy ending. The type of fairy tale where the huntsman was the big bad wolf and the beautiful unicorn had more blood on its hooves than most serial killers.

Chris snarled, claws cutting through the smoke, as he joined Peter. The wood of Ilara’s body crackled and smoked in the hot, ash filled air. But they seemed as strong and furious as ever, despite the way their body must have been fighting to catch alight.

“Your pack will pay for this,” Ilara said in their emotionless voice. Chris was sure they would have been snarling if they could have. 

“Yeah, yeah, our blood will put out the fire and your unicorn will piss on our graves. We get it,” Peter said dryly. Well, as dryly as he could when he had to force words out of a muzzle unsuited for human speech. “Usually I’d appreciate the dramatics, but you and your merry gang of plywood have tested my patience.”

Ilara made a noise like an ancient tree being torn apart before they pounced. Chris felt tender roots try and tug at his feet to hold him down, but they were weak and brittle. Before Ilara could swipe their clawed hands against Peter’s chest, he tackled them. Charred wood on the outside of their body broke off under his claws and he felt his palms grow sticky with the dryad’s silver, sap-like blood. 

Despite their weakened state, Ilara easily threw Chris off of them and he landed with a hard thud against the smoldering embers of what used to be a bush. He got up with a low snarl and watched as Peter rushed in.

The massive, furred form that was Peter’s alpha shift still managed to unnerve him. It was less corrupted by the rage and fractured mind that had consumed Peter years ago, looking more like a wolf than a monstrous human. Now, he was almost beautiful in a way, but despite that, the way he pounced and moved made some small part of Chris’s mind want to run and hide. He was a predator, there was no question about that as he bared his teeth and growled, a deep, guttural sound. 

Ilara matched Peter’s claws with their arm and Chris watched as silver sap welled in the deep gouges left in the wake of Peter’s attack. He pushed himself off of the ground and joined Peter in his attack. He pulled out his electric baton and turned it up as high as it could go, high enough that the hair along his arms stood up from the crackle of electricity. 

Chris jammed the baton against the small of Ilara’s back and instantly the wood started smoking and crackling. They screamed — or at least Chris assumed it was their version of a scream, it sounded more like a massive oak falling to the ground than any human noise — in pain. They kicked back with a leg, hitting Chris in the knee and he let out his own noise of pain as he fell to the ground, baton crackling in the ash beside him.

But it was too late for Ilara. With a slash of his claws, Peter cut through their neck, severing their wooden head. Their body fell to the ground, lifeless, now nothing more than tinder for the fire that was still ravaging the forest.

The other remaining dryad didn’t look to be faring much better, they were surrounded by werewolves and Parrish landed flaming fist after fist onto their body. Each consecutive punch caused flames to envelop the dryad more and more.

Peter extended a hand to Chris who took it and pulled himself up. Peter’s hand was sticky with sap, the silvery substance shimmering in the light of the fire all the way up his arm and across his chest.

“That was the training round,” Peter said in a quiet voice, eyes scanning the clearing. “Stiles did well with whatever fire spell he used, but I doubt that’s going to do anything but make the fucking horse mad.”

Chris frowned as he turned off his baton and slid it into a holster. “Where is the unicorn anyway?” He didn’t like that he couldn’t see it. Even if a unicorn probably wasn’t capable of using power tools to build a bunker, he didn’t want to fight her in her choice of location. He vastly preferred the burnt down grove where all of the plant life was smoldering ashes.

“Stiles, where is she?” Peter called as he stalked over to where Stiles was held by Scott. Chris noticed the black veins trailing up Scott’s arm and disappearing under his sleeves. Seeing the state of Stiles’ arms, he couldn’t be surprised at how far the darkness stretched. 

“Cerys is in a clearing that way. Or at least she was earlier,” Stiles said as he raised an arm. Quickly he lowered it, wincing in pain. “Okay, that was a mistake. Holy shit was that a bad idea. I’m just gonna stay back here.”

“Malia, angry child, sad puppy eyes, stay back here with Stiles and Scott,” Peter ordered. The way he spoke left no room for argument. “I want Parrish, Christopher, sword girl, and Derek with me.”

“Angry child?” Liam sputtered as Isaac scowled and asked, “Sad puppy eyes?”

Peter rolled his eyes, “If you think I care enough to learn the names of every teenage mongrel in this town you’re mistaken.” Chris wanted to point out how Peter addressed everyone by name the previous night. Not to mention he knew Peter likely had tabs on every single supernatural in a thirty mile radius. But whatever, if he wanted to pretend to not know the names of the kids, Chris didn’t care.

“If the unicorn comes this way, I’m sure your death gurgles will be loud enough that your sacrifices won’t be for nothing.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Stiles said dryly. “I really appreciate the faith you have in us.”

Peter’s tail twitched in amusement. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Enough,” Chris cut in as he unholstered his rifle. “We’re going because I want to get this over. Scott, call your mother and let her know to be ready for burns at the Stilinski house when this is over.”

Chris kept his eyes peeled for any movement as he headed in the direction that Stiles had pointed towards. He didn’t have much faith in his rifle to do anything more than bother the unicorn but he wanted the small comfort shooting from a distance provided. Another small comfort was getting touched by the unicorn this time wasn’t going to poison him. He didn’t exactly want to get gored again but at least it was something that could heal.

“I don’t know if I should feel honored or frightened that I was asked to come along on this.” Chris heard Kira whisper to Parrish.

“Seeing as he didn’t even call you by name, I’m leaning closer to frightened,” Parrish replied.

“What was even up with that? Like, hello, he literally addressed me by name the other day. Can I just call him evil v-neck now since that’s the game he wants to play?” Kira’s indignation made Chris snort in amusement but also feel a pang of hurt deep in his chest. Every little reminder of just how young everyone in Scott’s pack was acted as a reminder of his own personal guilt. He had wanted to keep Allison free of this world until she was an adult and he had failed, leaving her without a mother, an aunt, a grandfather, and the use of her legs. 

He wasn’t going to let a single one of these teenagers be killed or hurt that night, not if he could help it.

“Why Kira?” He asked Peter in a quiet voice. “She should stay back with the rest of the McCall pack.”

“Her sword is powerful. Your bullets won’t do more than irritate the unicorn but that sword will wound it enough for one of us to rip out its throat.” Peter’s ears swiveled as he spoke, no doubt listening for sounds that even Chris’s hearing couldn’t pick up. “Parrish and Kira will be the unicorn’s biggest main threats. We get unicorn barbecue with Parrish and Kira’s sword put a Nogitsune in its grave.”

Chris grunted. It made sense but he didn’t like it, and of course, that didn’t matter. His rifle felt heavy in his hands as he mulled over Peter’s words. It was true that his bullets might as well have been bee stings to the unicorn when he had gone against it the previous time but he still had felt comforted by its presence as they had made the trek to deal with the dryads.

Now, as he walked to the unicorn, with Peter’s words cycling in his mind? He didn’t feel comforted by much of anything. 

“Any more parts of your plan you want to share now that we’re five minutes out from death?” Derek spoke up, eyes narrowed as he looked at Peter. “Or do you want to wait until we’re five seconds away from death?”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing, nephew.” How Peter managed to say that with a straight face, Chris wasn’t sure. By Derek’s unamused snort, Chris figured he had the same questions.

They continued to walk for some time, conversation falling silent. The tension that laid over the group felt as thick as the ash that suffocated the air around them. It felt just as tangible and Chris knew that it was as real a threat as the fire.

“Stop,” Peter said quietly, holding out an arm. His red eyes glowed eerily in the smoke he turned his head. “I hear it.”

Chris didn’t, but he still stopped regardless. “Where?” He asked as he raised his rifle. He saw nothing in the trees, not even a tree shaking in the wind, as he circled around.

Peter’s response was a growl loud enough that everyone in Beacon Hills probably heard as he bolted off into the trees. Chris immediately sprinted to follow him into a clearing alongside Parrish, Derek, and Kira.

As soon as he saw an inch of gleaming white fur across the clearing, Chris pulled the trigger. Each shot landed, one after another, but the unicorn continued moving forward. It was as if they were pebbles rather than high caliber, armor piercing rounds. 

Chris let out a frustrated snarl as he tossed his rifle to the ground. He hated admitting it, but Peter was right. None of his tools were going to help against the unicorn. All he could do was keep her busy and help set up a chance for Parrish or Kira to deal a killing blow.

In a blur of fur and fangs, Peter was thrown into a tree next to Chris as the unicorn kicked him from one end of the clearing to the other. The tree he landed on shook and let out a nasty crack. Peter’s bones also snapped upon impact but Chris wasn’t particularly concerned about those, not when they’d be healed back to normal in seconds.

His main concern was how the fuck was he going to get close enough to the unicorn to distract her without getting thrown right next to Peter. At least he wasn’t going to get poisoned and die if he touched the damn thing this time but she seemed even stronger, like he had faced her at a quarter strength when he had fought her the previous time. Not to mention the furious fire in her eyes.

“I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, but I don’t think this was it,” Kira said slowly. She tightened her grip on her katana and nervously adjusted her stance as the unicorn stopped at the edge of the clearing. “She’s so beautiful.”

“She disemboweled people and ate them, oh, and just broke half of the bones in my body after kicking me fifty yards,” Peter replied as he stood back up, wincing. “But yes, please be distracted by a glowy mane and pretty fur so you’re an even easier target.”

Chris couldn’t blame Kira for being stunned. The unicorn was absolutely gorgeous, even the imperfect horn couldn’t mar her beauty. There had been times where ancient kings had given away their riches and their armies to appease what they had thought was a celestial being. For how could something so pure, so beautiful be dangerous?

Unicorns were a rare sight, but never a peaceful one.

Those lords had all died and their land fell to a new queen. Castles and kingdoms became forests, watered by the blood of its former inhabitants.

Light didn’t mean good and beautiful didn’t mean kind.

The unicorn lowered her head and whinnied, hoof stamping on the ground. Chris realized what was happening a fraction of a second before the unicorn began to charge across the clearing.

“ _ Move _ ,” Chris shouted as he started to run to the side to avoid getting trampled or gored. He had been fired once by this unicorn already, he didn’t want a repeat performance.

As she passed him, Chris raked his claws down her side. The muscle knitted together almost as quickly as it was split apart, making Chris swear in frustration. “Parrish, Kira, we could really use your abilities right about now.”

He had to leap back as the unicorn whipped her head at him, narrowly missing having his guts ripped out. As he stumbled backwards, Derek jumped onto the unicorn and bit into the back of her neck. Silver blood welled up underneath his claws as he dug them into her side to stay put as she bucked and reared up, trying to dislodge him.

He ran forward, praying he wasn’t going to get brained by a hoof, and he stabbed a clawed hand into the unicorn’s soft belly. She let out a loud whinny of pain and Chris managed to get a fistful of intestines ripped out before she stomped on his foot, pulverizing the bones. 

Chris screamed and let go of the intestines as he fell back. He vaguely noted that the wound on her belly wasn’t healing as well as the other wounds with her guts hanging out, but it was still slowly starting to heal. That observation was the last he made before he met the same fate that Peter had met just minutes earlier, breaking most of his ribs and every bone in both arms as he did his best skipping stone impression against solid earth.

At least Derek was still up and fighting the unicorn. He was no longer on her back, probably having gotten dislodged at some point in the bucking and kicking, and he was struggling to avoid her horn, but he was still up. 

Chris could feel the bones mending, but he was going to be down for too long. Only just now was Peter finally starting to move, though he was favoring one leg and knocked out of his alpha shift. He was out of the fight and had to pray the others could handle it. 

“Any time now would be great, you two,” Peter yelled as he began to back Derek up. “In case you haven’t noticed, this thing heals a hell of a lot faster than we do.”

Peter swiped at the unicorn’s throat, claws cutting clear through her windpipe. It was the same sort of move that had killed him but to the unicorn, it was a minor inconvenience. An inconvenience that didn’t stop her from reacting faster than Chris thought possible when Derek once again tried to leap onto her back. She swung her head to meet Derek at the climax of his leap, slicing down his chest and belly with the jagged, broken tip of her horn. 

Derek screamed in pain as he fell to the ground and Peter barely grabbed him and pulled him to safety before the unicorn stamped down where his head had been. Two of them were now out for the count, Chris doubted that Derek was going to be finished healing any faster than he was. The murder in the unicorn’s eyes made Chris think that Peter wasn’t going to last much longer either.

Parrish let out a roar that had Chris recoiling in some deep, instinctual form of fear deeper than any rational thought. He looked up to see the man covered in flames that hinted at a shape that no living being was ever meant to see. The air around him shimmered with the heat coming off of him and each step left flaming imprints in the leaf litter.

It was only then that the unicorn seemed fearful. She recoiled each step that he took, as if she too knew that Parrish was one of the only two threats to her life. Chris, Peter, and Derek were irritants, flies to be swatted. But Kira and Parrish? They had more than claws and teeth, they had something that could actually kill her.

“This is really happening,” Kira said under her breath, eyes closed, sounding close to royally panicking. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she raised her katana and ran forward, foxfire flickering around her. 

Kira reached the unicorn first, swinging her katana at her neck but she was quick. Sparks flew as the unicorn met the sword with her horn and Chris felt the hair on his arms stand up with the charge that filled the air. The unicorn lashed out with her front hooves and Kira had to jump back to avoid going down.

Parrish filled the void she left, grabbing a leg. That made the unicorn let out a screaming noise of pain. She thrashed but Parrish refused to let go of her leg, searing flesh and fur. Kira came back in and slashed at the back leg on the same side. Silver blood flashed as Kira severed a tendon, making the unicorn collapse down on that leg.

That wound wasn’t healing and neither were the imprints of Parrish’s hands. He had let go of her leg after she had slashed down at him with her horn. She was still dangerous but now, unable to stand, the only threat came from her horn.

“Finish her,” Peter said, circling around the downed unicorn. His clawed fingers twitched in rage as he matched her furious gaze. “Show her that  _ nobody _ comes after what is mine.”

In that moment, Chris was reminded of when Peter had his claws wrapped around Kate’s throat. The same murderous venom that had run through his veins then was in his veins now. A chill ran down his spine as Peter looked in his direction with that same cold fury in his eyes.

Then Kira stabbed her sword between the unicorn’s ribs and the life faded from her eyes and blood foamed in her mouth. It was over.

The unicorn was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let's ignore that it's been since march that I've updated this fic LOL quarantine has kinda murdered me


	19. Chapter 19

As it turned out, having third and fourth degree burns really fucking hurts. Even with Scott doing his pain leeching and Melissa giving him some pretty strong pain pills, Stiles was in agony. Maybe part of that was because the pain medicine lasted about five seconds in his system before his super metabolism used them all up.

“Will somebody please tell me why we aren’t taking Stiles to the hospital?” Melissa snapped as she worked on wrapping his arms in bandages. “This isn’t a simple boo boo you can fix at home, I can see  _ bone _ and, while I understand I’m the only medical professional in here, I think everyone knows that usually is the sign of a pretty bad burn.”

“And I’m sure the hospital will be able to make perfect sense out of seeing Stiles make a miraculous recovery in a week,” Peter snapped back. “What he needs is his pack and rest.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for your expert opinion, Peter. May I ask where you got your medical degree at?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I lost six years of my life to horrible burns that covered over half of my body that I had to suffer through alone, in a hospital, without my pack.” Peter clenched his fists and scowled at Melissa. “I might not be a doctor but I am uniquely qualified to decide what to do in this situation.”

Melissa opened her mouth and closed it a few times and finished wrapping the bandages around Stiles’ arms, pulling them tight enough to make Stiles wince in pain. After a few moments, she finally found her words, “Are you serious right now? I’m sorry, but no, there are explanations that can be made about his rate of healing, but I am not putting Stiles’ life at risk because you suffered alone for six years.” She crossed her arms across her chest and met Peter’s steely gaze. “I don’t doubt that he’ll heal faster with his pack around him but you can be there during visitor hours. Right now, werewolf healing or not, he is at risk of losing both arms and the medication that I’ve given him is out of his system almost as fast as it goes in. He needs to see a doctor.”

“What about the nine herbs?” Chris spoke up, getting between Peter and Melissa. A smart decision Stiles thought to himself, because god knows how long until those two began to actually fight. Stiles put money on Melissa winning whatever fight between the two of them, for the record.

“The what now?” Melissa asked.

“The nine herbs are an ancient remedy, primarily used for curing wounds of toxins. Last time I checked, Christopher, the burns on Stiles' arms are from fire, not chemical burns,” Peter said in a snappish tone. 

“And there are records of them having been used to treat other types of injuries.” How Chris managed to keep his cool with Peter, Stiles didn’t think he’d ever be able to figure out. The man had a penchant for getting under everyone’s skin, especially when he was miserable. “Maybe they’ll do nothing but that’s the worst case scenario. We try them and if they don’t work, we take Stiles to the hospital.”

“Okay, can we hit pause here?” Melissa cut in, frowning. “So they’re a magical cure, great, got that, but last I checked, CVS doesn’t exactly carry their generic.”

“No, you’d be better off looking in your grandmother’s herb garden. The nine herbs are literally nine different herbs, mugwort, betony, lamb's cress, plantain, mayweed, nettle, crab-apple, thyme, and fennel. You crush them to a powder and mix with honey.” Peter drummed his fingers on the back of a chair as he spoke.

“Would Deaton have them?” Scott asked. “That sounds like a pretty druidy healing concoction and he has plenty of jars of questionable powders at the clinic.”

Chris and Peter shared a brief look. “It would save us a trip to the garden center,” Peter said, frowning slightly. He then turned his gaze towards Scott, “You, go see Deaton.”

“Uh, I’m a little busy with Stiles here,” Scott said slowly, gesturing towards the lines of black that stretched up his arm. “You have a car, go see him yourself.”

“I’m aware of your ability to take pain away, Scott, because, amazingly enough, as a werewolf I too have that ability,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Deaton will take you with fewer questions than if I barged in and asked for the nine herbs.”

Peter paused for a moment, staring at Scott just long enough for it to feel odd to Stiles. “Not to mention, my nephew has shown what happens if an alpha takes away too much pain. Go get the herbs from Deaton.”

“Scott, it’s fine,” Stiles said quietly when Scott still looked like he wanted to argue. “Go get Deaton, I’ll be okay.”

It was guilt that made Scott want to stay, Stiles assumed. The same sort of guilt that made him take responsibility for Isaac, Boyd, and Erica. Scott carried the weight of the world on his shoulder, blamed himself when anyone got hurt. Stiles had no doubt that Scott had been beating himself up over the past few days, thinking that he should have been there.

With a final concerned look, Scott released his shoulder and Stiles bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood at the sudden wave of pain that course through him. Usually there was a buffer between the pain drain and the return of the agony, but apparently that didn’t apply to burns.

Peter grabbed hold of his shoulder and the relief was instant. Stiles couldn't imagine years of that sort of pain, even if it was dulled by scar tissue and time. He was burnt from his hands to his chest yet Peter’s entire body had been ruined by flames. 

For the first time, Stiles understood how that sort of pain could drive a man mad enough to murder his own family. When lost in a desert, one would drink from the first fountain they found. Even if the fountain was someone else’s lifeline. Ending the agony, quenching the thirst, salving the burns, it was worth it.

Nothing would bring Laura Hale back, nothing would undo the horrors of what Peter had done. Peter might have been a murderer long Kate Argent had set the Hales ablaze but Stiles realized that Laura’s murder hadn’t come from the sort of coldblooded, calculated planning that he had always thought.

To a desperate man, drowning in a sea of pain, Laura had been a lifeboat. Her power would finally ease his suffering, so he took it.

Stiles closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. If his entire body had been so burned and ruined as his arms were, if he had no hope of healing, he didn’t know that he would have chosen differently than Peter had. The thought was a sobering one, one that made him uncomfortable.

For years, Peter had been this untouchable evil. It was simple, Peter was cruel and selfish. But now, after everything that had happened over the past few months, that basic fact wasn’t true. Peter had actual human interests, he cared about his pack, and now Stiles finally understood why he had done what he did.

Peter Hale was no angel but Stiles could no longer think of him as the devil incarnate. 

——

The nine herbs worked but days later, Stiles could still feel the flames licking across his skin. Thanksgiving had come and gone, his break had ended, his skin was smooth and flawless, and he had successfully avoided seeing anybody but his dad, Melissa, and his friends for days to stay away from any hard discussions he wasn’t ready to have. Yet each night he woke up in a cold sweat, imagining that the friction of blankets on his arms was the start of fire spreading once again.

It was all in his mind, Stiles knew that, he repeated that to himself each time he felt like he was burning. But it was like a panic attack, he couldn’t reason his way out of it. There was nothing he could do until his body processed that it was whole and healthy. There was no fire, no smell of singed hair or scorched flesh, only memories.

“Well, burning alive now officially replaces watching my body murder everyone I care about as my usual night terror,” Stiles said to Lydia one day in physics as they worked on their final project. “I’m not quite sure if that’s an improvement or not.”

Nightmares, now that was something he shared with Lydia. Nobody else quite understood the feeling of waking up in a cold sweat, throat raw from screaming in your sleep, unsure if the horrors you saw in your dreams were real or not. Sure, banshees had deep power, but Stiles always thought that Lydia had drawn the short stick of supernatural powers. Just a lot of psychological trauma and not much else without years of practice.

Lydia frowned at him as she looked up from the equation she was working on. “I can’t believe I miss the days where the thing I cried about was my parents getting divorced,” she said. “That’s a lot better than sobbing in fear over memories of hallucinating burnt corpses in the mirror.”

“God, we’re fucked up, aren’t we?” Stiles laughed without humor. He stretched his arms out in front of him and flexed his hands, watching the smooth, flawless skin move. If he let his focus slip just enough, he could still see scorched muscle and bone until reality moved back in. 

“Seems to be about par for the course for supernaturals,” Lydia replied. “I don’t think it’s possible to touch this world without having heaps of trauma handed to you.” 

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“I thought it sounded better than being forced to watch friends and family get injured or die over and over again.” Lydia looked at Stiles for a moment. “Have you talked to Peter about this? I’m sure he has plenty of experience with nightmares about being burnt alive.”

“Peter’s response to being burned was to go on a murder spree. I mean, like I get it now, but also I feel like that might not help me too much seeing as I did it to myself.”

Lydia raised a brow. “Unfortunately we’re a little low on options here since regular therapists probably wouldn’t understand the whole kidnapped by walking tree people and a magic horse aspect of this.” She hummed low under her breath as she quickly wrote a new formula. “Oh, Malia’s thinking of joining your pack,” she added. 

“Wait what? Why does she want to do that?” Stiles barely managed to not snap his pencil in half in shock. “I’m pretty sure Scott’s pack is a lot more stable and a lot less run by a dude who I’m like ninety percent certain killed people for money before.”

“Oh Peter absolutely did that, I’m not entirely sure of Malia’s reasoning but she’s been talking to me about it. I guess her seeing how honest to god distraught Peter was with you missing made her see something good in him.” Lydia paused and shrugged. “That or she wants to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t turn into a super villain again.”

Stiles snorted, “I think Chris would murder him if he tried anything super villainy.”

”Like you wouldn’t kill him first,” Lydia said with a slight smile. “But, really, Stiles, talk to Peter about this.”

Holding back a sigh proved impossible. “I— look, Lyds, I’m like, I don’t know, not scared or nervous, but conflicted I guess. Now it’s like, I get why he did so much of what he did after the fire. The pain was so horrible.” He ran his hands through his hair and grimaced. “Peter’s still an absolute dumpster of a person and it’s not like his string of murder was okay, but like he’s just not the pure evil Lex Luthor type of guy I always thought he was.”

“People have layers,” Lydia said with a shrug. “Even Peter isn’t just the flat black and white type of guy we all wish he was.” 

“Thanks for the words of wisdom, Shrek,” Stiles said. He leaned back in his chair and stared at one of the flickering lights in the ceiling.

“I’m just saying, last time you were getting horrible nightmares you got possessed by an evil fox spirit and each time I get them, I wind up finding a dead body.”

“Okay but the difference here is that this is just the normal type of trauma nightmare.”

Lydia took Stiles’ sheet of paper from him anSd began correcting some of his math. “It’s almost like millions of people talk to their therapists about their normal types of trauma nightmares every day.” She fixed Stiles with a look that left no room for debate. “Talk to Peter after this, or at the very least, Derek.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stiles said noncommittally. The idea of Derek being able to provide any sort of helpful advice when it came to processing traumatizing events almost made him laugh. What stopped the laugh was probably the fact that neither Hale was going to be very good at it. Derek beat his emotions into submission and Peter made himself feel better by making everybody around him feel worse.

Maybe he could just go into hiding and never talk to anyone about his feelings again. The nightmares would probably go away after a few months or years. Probably.

——

Stiles wasn’t given the option to crawl into a hole for ten years and avoid any contact with humanity. He wasn’t even given the option to drive home and watch youtube and eat ice cream out of the carton to numb his feelings.

He literally couldn’t drive anything. His Jeep wasn’t in the fucking parking lot. Instead, it was replaced with a conspicuous Mercedes.

“I’m going to kill him, I’m seriously going to kill him,” Stiles said as he stared at Peter’s stupid drug lord car. He clenched his fist so hard that his lacrosse stick cracked under the pressure. Apparently Peter had enough of waiting for Stiles to come for him.

Scott followed Stiles’ gaze. “You could fit on the back of my bike,” he offered. “That, or I’m sure Allison would be happy to taze him until he backs off.”

Peter honked his horn and Stiles let out a low snarl as he felt claws prick the flesh of his palms. “That would require Peter taking a hint, which I don’t think he’s ever done before in his life.”

“You realize what this looks like, right?” Isaac spoke up and Stiles really didn’t trust the look on his face. “I mean, like walking into a suspiciously nice car driven by an older man?”

“Isaac—”

Isaac laughed loudly. “Dude, I’m pretty certain that there’s gonna be rumors of Stiles having a sugar daddy popping up around the school by Monday.”

“Okay, so now I have a list. First, I’m murdering Peter, then I’m coming for you, Isaac.” Stiles gave Isaac his best death glare that was just shrugged off.

“I’m just speaking the truth,” Isaac said with a shrug. “I’m sure Scott is thinking it too.”

“He’s kinda right,” Scott said slowly. “But I mean, it’s better thank them thinking you’re meeting with some mob boss for drugs or something.”

“Both of you are dead to me.”

At another honk of Peter’s horn, Stiles left Scott and Isaac with a final glare before he stormed over to Peter’s stupid car. He slammed open the door and fixed Peter with a flat, angry look. “Do I want to know why you stole my car?”

Peter met his angry look with a brilliant smile. “You’ve been ducking me for the past several days. Would you rather I exert my control as an alpha over you?”

“I’ve kinda been avoiding most people.” Stiles was tempted to leave deep gouges in the paint but figured that, for everything he could do that Peter might forgive, that wasn’t one of them. “I just kinda want to be left alone for awhile until I feel better.” 

“You do realize what the purpose of a pack is, right?” Peter didn’t even wait for Stiles to put on his seatbelt before he peeled out of the parking lot. It was actually impressive that he didn’t hit anyone with the way he sped in the parking lot. “Werewolves heal faster and it’s an easier process when they’re around their pack.”

Peter turned out of the parking lot and headed towards downtown. “You got your magical nine herb cure but as your alpha, I can feel that you’re still not right.”

“I’m having nightmares, okay,” Stiles snapped. He had to count down from ten over and over again to quell the urge to shift that threatened to take over. It’s not like he had ever been too great at having conversations he hadn’t prepared for, but in the past he used to just stammer out bad excuses. Now with the dog in his brain, he had to fight back rage and irrational anger before he could get to the stammering out bad excuses part.

“And have you considered that maybe I have some experience in the nightmare department?”

A retort of,  _ your coping mechanism was murdering everyone involved _ , died on Stiles’ tongue. He knew the suffering didn’t excuse what Peter had done, but,  _ still _ , he understood. They murdered his family and subjected him to years of torment without even a slap on the wrist. Honestly, they probably deserved a lot worse than what happened to them. Even ignoring Peter, there had been  _ children  _ that died.

“You’re supposed to come to me when you’re in pain, Stiles. I’m your alpha, don’t you get what that means?” Peter continued on, oblivious to Stiles’ internal fight.

Sure, Stiles knew what that meant. But the problem was, what about when part of that pain came from Peter himself. It wasn’t exactly like Stiles could say, ‘Hey, now that I’ve experienced fourth degree burns and the sheer agony of it for not even an entire day, I now understand why you went totally nutso and killed your niece. That’s kinda fucking with my brain and I need time to sort things out on my own.’ Hell, it’s not like he could have even admitted to re-evaluating his stance on Peter since the man would have immediately tried to use that to his own benefit. 

Peter being a manipulator was something that Stiles hadn’t re-evaluated his stance on. He always did whatever he could to move the pieces on the board to his benefit. Stiles didn’t want to just hand him whatever pieces he needed to fully win him over.

“I still have my dad and my friends,” Stiles said after his internal debate. “I get that there’s pack bond stuff but it’s not like that takes away from things like healthy support structures.”

“And yet despite your healthy support structure, you’re still having nightmares.” Peter paused and looked at Stiles. “You’ll be staying with me for the weekend and we’re going to work on this nightmare problem.”

“And do I get a say in this?” 

Peter made a turn so quickly, Stiles was afraid that his car was going to tip over. Christ, if he had driven Roscoe with even a tenth of the recklessness that he drove his own car, Stiles worries that there would be irreparable damage to the Jeep.

“You avoided me for a week, I think that was your say in the matter.” Okay, yeah, but that’s bullshit.

Honestly, Stiles should have expected something like this. He knew that if he ignored Peter, Peter was going to force his way in on his terms. The only problem was that he hadn’t exactly been functioning at full brain power and he was putting all of his sleep deprived energy into studying for finals and working on final projects. He had taken a gamble that maybe for once Peter would react like a normal person and promptly fell on his face.

“Don’t blame me if you get the entirety of the sheriff’s department busting down your door.”

Peter flashed his pearly white teeth in a smile. “Don’t worry about that, our dear Sheriff Stilinski already knows about this. He actually called me asking for my help. You have a great father, he really cares a great deal about you.”

Fantastic, betrayed by his own father. Sold out to a weekend with Peter Hale. Even if he solved Stiles’ burning alive nightmares, Stiles was fairly certain he’d be coming out with a new nightmare.

“Relax,” Peter said as he pulled into his parking spot. “I’m sure this weekend will only be mildly painful for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From one life threatening problem to another. Stiles probably is thinking that the dryads were less dangerous than realizing Peter isn't just a formless mass of evil lol


	20. Chapter 20

“Chinese or Indian?” Peter asked as he opened a drawer filled with takeout menus. That sort of drawer seemed so out of place in his kitchen that was filled with expensive cooking tools. Stiles was pretty certain the set of knives on his counter were worth more than his Jeep.

Okay, it wasn’t hard to be worth more than his Jeep, but still.

The idea of Peter ordering general tso chicken and crab rangoons, tipping a delivery man, finishing all that with no murder or schemes, it was all bizarre to him. It was just so… mundane. So far removed from the plans of vengeance and assistance they only benefitted himself which had been the Peter Stiles had known for three years. Yet another item that he had to toss into the ‘Yes, Peter Hale is an actual person’ box. The surprise must have been clear on his face, because Peter spoke up.

“Even I don’t feel like cooking every day, Stiles,” he said with a twinge of dry amusement in his voice. He flipped through some of the pamphlets and hummed low under his breath. “I want red braised pork belly, we’re ordering Chinese,” he declared and Stiles felt his eye twitch ever so slightly.

“Thank you for providing me the options that you chose from, Peter,” he said, having to fight to keep his eyes from rolling. “Can I pick what I want from the menu or are you planning on deciding for me?”

“How touchy,” Peter said with raised brows as he handed Stiles the menu. “Decide for yourself and then let me know when you’d like to have an actual conversation without snapping over everything. I know there’s more going on than just nightmares, Stiles.”

The look Peter gave him made Stiles force himself to hold back a shudder. It was filled with too much knowledge, like he had already figured out what exactly was making Stiles so uncomfortable. 

To be honest, he probably already had. Stiles had never exactly been the best at subtly or hiding information. Actually, those were probably the things he was the worst at.

“I want the sweet and sour chicken dinner,” Stiles said, intentionally refusing to address Peter’s comment. Even if he wasn’t the best at hiding information, he still wanted to avoid touching on the topic of Peter’s potential humanity and everything that entailed, with Peter, for as long as possible.

Peter made a vague noise that Stiles took as disapproval over his choice of food, but fuck that, sweet and sour chicken was delicious. If Peter wanted him to order something that didn’t come with fried rice and an egg roll he should have said something. And hell, if Peter wanted to argue with him over his food, Stiles would sure as hell take that over an actual discussion about things.

But the vaguely disappointed noise was the only way Peter voiced his displeasure before he called and placed the order. He did ignore Stiles’ additional request of some crab rangoons, but hey, he still ordered the combo.

Stiles let out a sigh as he flopped down on one of Peter’s leather recliners and checked his phone. His notifications were mostly filled with his friends making sure he wasn’t being murdered… well, mostly that’s what his notifications were filled with. There were some outliers, like Isaac asking what it was like to be a sugar baby to the head of the werewolf mafia and Lydia and Scott telling him that it wasn’t really a bad idea to talk with Peter and to make the most of the weekend.

Traitors, all of them were traitors. 

“Burning alive truly is an awful experience, isn’t it?” Peter set his cell down on a side table and sat on the couch facing opposite of Stiles. His eyes were narrowed in a searching interest as he inspected Stiles. “It’s worse for werewolves, did you know that? It’s like being electrocuted, our cells go into overdrive trying to heal but they can’t keep up with the damage.”

“I know how awful it felt, Peter, I don’t need you breaking down the science of it,” Stiles snapped. He was grateful for the coffee table and space in between them, it made him feel less vulnerable than if Peter had sat directly next to him. “What I need is to be done with the damn nightmares.”

“And I’ll help you get over them.” Peter sounded entirely unphased by Stiles’ snappish retort. He had that unflappable mask on, the kind that almost nothing could get through and hid nearly all of his true emotions. “But what makes the lingering mental pain of the flames so much worse is the fact that pain for werewolves is usually gone in a snap. You could fall and break your arm and within seconds the pain would be a distant memory. But that doesn’t happen with fire, does it?”

Peter paused for a moment, just long enough for Stiles to wonder if he was supposed to speak up. But before he could, Peter continued, “It’s easier for you, you haven’t been a werewolf long enough to forget the feeling of being truly injured.”

“Easy for me? Peter, every night I dream of burning alive. Even when I’m awake, if I stop paying attention for just long enough, my arms feel like they’re burning all over again.”

“I said easi _ er _ , not easy.” Peter rolled his eyes and sighed like Stiles was purposefully missing his point. “Some days it’s painful for me to shave the right side of my face and I can’t wear fabric with certain textures because in my mind it still feels like my skin is charred and burnt. This isn’t even the body that had been burnt, that’s still rotting underneath the bones of my old home, but the pain is still seared so tightly into my brain that doesn’t matter.”

Stiles opened his mouth to sneer out how that promised such a great future for him, but he hesitated. Even if Peter’s tone was cool and unaffected, Stiles could tell he was being honest. He was laying open a genuine vulnerability and it made Stiles freeze. After a few seconds of his mouth gaping like a fish, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“I’m used to it, it’s proof that I’m a survivor.” Despite his words, Peter’s jaw was tight as he spoke. “But I can take the memories of the fire and the pain from you — with the precision I have as an alpha, I can even leave your memories of what happened but strip out all of the pain from them. It’s amazing, the control an alpha has. Even though I’ve always been talented with altering and viewing memories, I can do so much more now.”

Stiles frowned, out of everyone he knew, aside from maybe Jackson, Peter was by far the most concerning option to have such tight control over the mind. “Uh, Peter? Letting you mess with my mind sounds like a terrible idea. Like, your entire thing is manipulating people for your own gain. Giving free reign over my brain to you is like giving an alcoholic the keys to a liquor store.”

“You really trust me that little?” Peter raised his eyebrows in mock affront. “Really, Stiles, I really thought that you would have realized that I want what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me, like what I think is best or what you think is best?” Stiles gritted his teeth and frowned at Peter. “I’m realizing that maybe you do care about me in your own, sorta psychopathic, Peter way, but I know for sure that what I think is best and what you think is best don’t usually match up.”

“Manipulating your mind into having you fall in line with me is boring, Stiles.” Peter stood up and inspected his nails. “Where’s the fun in having a beta with no will of his own? There’s fight in Christopher and you, I enjoy being tested like that. It’s quite honestly thrilling knowing that either one of you could decide that you no longer want to be my beta and try to kill me.”

Okay, that was a completely unexpected — and slightly terrifying — response. Most people didn’t rate the idea of potentially being killed high on the fun scale. But even then, “Dude, I’m not letting you fuck around in my mind.”

“One, don’t call me dude. Two, don’t be stupid, Stiles. I’m not planning on doing anything as mundane as rooting through your private memories or making you want to get down on all fours for me.” Peter rolled his eyes as he walked towards Stiles. He passed the buffer of the coffee table and Stiles felt himself immediately tense up. The tension in his body only got worse when Peter grabbed his chin and tilted it up so they looked each other in the eyes. He felt like the string of Allison’s bow as Peter continued on.

“Do you want the truth of what I’m planning?” It was a rhetorical question, Stiles knew that so he didn’t even try to speak up. “My plan is I’m going to make it so you can’t remember the all consuming pain of burning alive and then we will talk and you’ll tell me what exactly it is that has made you avoid me for the past week.”

“I don’t trust you.”

A smirk stretched across Peter’s lips. “Maybe not, but fortunately for you, I’m telling the truth.”

Before Stiles could react, he felt the pressure of claws digging into his neck and his mind went blank.

——

Stiles came to with the smell of greasy takeout in his nose and a sore neck. His eyes snapped open and he immediately scanned the room for Peter. The bastard was back, lounging on his couch, halfway through his dinner, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed of himself.

Okay, the fact that he was furious with Peter meant that Peter probably hadn’t done anything to screw with his mind. He certainly didn’t feel like he’d do anything for the man, but maybe there was a trigger word or something.

“Stop glaring at me and eat your food before it gets cold.” Peter didn’t look up from his phone as he spoke. “Scout’s honor, I took out the fire and nothing more.”

“Are you serious right now?” Stiles felt like a teapot, voice rising in pitch as his emotions started to boil over. “Eat your food, Stiles, I didn’t just fuck with your mind after explicitly being told not to. I’m Peter Hale and I refuse to listen to what other people say.”

Peter raised a brow and frowned. “You were being stupid because you don’t like that you’re starting to realize I’m not this flat, cartoonish villain you’ve always thought it was.”

Stiles sputtered, “Really? You’re just admitting that you went through more than the memories of the fire?”

A barked out laugh cut through the air. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Stiles. I didn’t have to comb through your mind to know that’s one of the reasons you’ve been avoiding me. I’m not about to let some stupid, childish resentment over the fact that people are more complex than your teen dramas would have you to believe stand in the way of the safety of my pack.” Peter’s voice was steely as he spoke and his eyes were chips of ice. “Do you know how incredible it would have been for Laura to have stolen the memories of the fire from my mind like Talia had done to my memories of my daughter?”

Peter set his food down and stood up, body tense, like he was ready for a fight. “Laura had been my alpha and she left me to suffer alone because she couldn’t stand being in this town. I can’t blame her for leaving Beacon Hills but she failed as my alpha. She wasn’t there for me, she took none of my pain, she let me rot in that damned hospital for six years.”

“I know my role as an alpha, Stiles. After the dryads, I took your pain, I made it so you didn’t have to suffer alone for years in a burn ward, and I took even the faintest memories of the agony of your burns. I’m no saint, I know that as well as you. I’ve murdered, lied, stealed, and cheated my way through life, but I wouldn’t use the chance to do what I wish had been done to me in order to control your mind.”

The flat honesty in Peter’s voice made Stiles flinch. He wasn’t trying to gain pity, just understanding. But, still, “I told you not to do it, Peter.”

“Would you have this same problem if it had been Scott to clear your memories of the fire?” Peter asked, head tilted and arms folded across his chest. “Even if he would have been much more clumsy than me and could have damaged your mind far more?”

Stiles slammed his fist down on the armrest of the chair. “I  _ trust _ Scott,” he snarled. “Scott isn’t a mystery to me, he isn’t the type of guy to take any advantage he can, even if it leaves someone else in the dust. But I don’t trust you, even if you’re not a mustache twirling bad guy, you’re still not a good guy. You’d shoot the fucking Pope if it meant you could get the last seat on a train away from danger. Everything you do is some manipulative game to make it certain that Peter Hale comes out on top. Knowing that you didn’t murder your niece for the hell of it doesn’t change that.” He felt blood well on his palms as his sharp claws pierced the skin. “Maybe you care about your pack, but in your heart, you’re still only ever looking out for number one.”

“Do I see life as a game that I can weigh to my advantage? Maybe so. But you’re not understanding something, Stiles. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to turn you into some carbon copy of me who mindlessly follows. Your morals are inconvenient and maybe my life would be easier if you freed yourself of them, but the way you challenge me is interesting.” Peter ran a hand through his hair as he spoke but his eyes remained glued on Stiles. “You can keep coming up with all the evil plans in the world you think I’m plotting, but you need to understand that you will forever orbit around the one truth you need to accept but refuse to.”

“And that is?” Stiles spat out, venom thick in his voice.

“I want you to come to me of your own choice, as you are. I may be a narcissist, but I don’t want to be with a carbon copy of myself. Maybe I stack the deck in my favor, but I don’t force your hand in the game. Deny it all you want, but that’s the truth, Stiles.”

Stiles froze and the blood on his palms began to dry as claws receded and flesh healed. “What do you mean by want?” He asked, mouth dry.

“I mean that I  _ want _ you. I told you in the very beginning that I liked you and that sentiment has yet to change. You and I are equals, matched in so many ways, different enough to make me interested. You’re a frustrating, loud, anxiety ridden boy but you’ve fascinated me so deeply, in ways no one else has ever come close to.”

Stiles blinked once and then again. Peter Hale was confessing his feelings to him — Peter had actual feelings to confess. He was frozen in shock, he had expected so many things but he could have never expected anything even close to this.

“This is a fake memory you planted into my mind.”

“Holy shit — Stiles I swear to god,” Peter swore loudly. “I didn’t place any memories into your mind, I didn’t twist your emotions. For once in my fucking life I’m being entirely open and honest with somebody.”

“I slept with your daughter — like, I slept with her so much, you don’t even want to know how much sex we had — you’re like the age of my dad, you’re actually interested in me?” Stiles’ brain felt overloaded as he struggled to process what Peter had said. 

“Stiles, shut up,” Peter said.

“I just, you’re really interested in me? Like, you’re not joking?” Peter actually cared about him. Peter wasn’t just using him, wasn’t lying to him and trying to manipulate him to the dark side. There was an actual beating heart behind all of that cold steel of Peter Hale.

“For the love of—” Peter cut himself off as he grabbed Stiles by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. Stiles’ already overloaded brain totally short circuited and failed him when he felt Peter’s lips press against his as — holy shit, it was really happening — Peter brought him in for a kiss.

The way Peter kissed was rough and aggressive. It felt like he only just held his teeth back and his stubble rubbed like sandpaper against Stiles’ face. His hand moved from Stiles’ collar to wrap around his jaw, strong fingers rubbing at his cheek. He pulled away after a few moments just as Stiles’ brain began to catch up but left his hand on Stiles’ cheek.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked, sounding smug.

“Holy shit, you’re actually interested in me,” Stiles said, slightly breathless. Peter wasn’t lying. He could hardly believe it, he almost would have believed that Peter was an ancient, immortal deity cursed to walk this earth because of his sins before believing that Peter Hale had actual genuine feelings and affection for people and that _ he _ was the actual target of that affection.

“Yes, do you need me to spell it out for you again?” Peter asked, slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Believe me, I’m quite capable of spelling it out in many different ways.”

Many different ways, meaning, “You want to have sex with me.”

A slightly pained expression crossed Peter’s face and he raised his brows. “There’s an art to these things that you apparently haven’t quite learned yet. But yes, I want to utterly destroy you Stiles.” There was a teasing edge to his tone, but he leaned in closer to Stiles nevertheless, close enough that the bridges of their noses brushed against each other. “And what do you say to that?” He asked in a voice quiet enough that human ears couldn’t have picked it up.

What did he say? Stiles was so shocked, he could hardly process what was happening. Sleeping with Peter, kissing Peter, all of his brain cells screamed at him that it was an awful idea, that Peter would take any opportunity to destroy him in a way that wasn’t an innuendo.

But Stiles instead whispered, “Yes,” as he closed the gap between his and Peter’s mouths and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally.... over 100k words in and they finally kiss. when ya girl says slow burn she fucking means it LOL  
usually I try to hit at least 3.5k words in a chapter but I felt like I had a good stopping place for this chapter so I cut it a bit early at like 3.2k if you can forgive me (lol)


	21. Chapter 21

So, Stiles still wasn’t entirely convinced that Peter wouldn’t do something awful to every supernatural — and regular — person in town. Doing shitty things ran through Peter’s veins like blood. But the newfound knowledge that Peter actually cared about him trumped everything else. Like, that had to at least provide some sort of counterbalance to his innate urge to murder baristas for getting his order wrong, right? 

“Stop thinking, the smell of your anxiety is distracting,” Peter muttered against his lips. “It’s also quite the insult to my charms.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back the slightly hysterical laugh. “Your charms?” As far as he was aware, the only charm points Peter had were in the looks department. Here he was, ready to fuck around with the man, and he still wasn’t entirely sure why. Peter wasn’t nice, it was impossible to tell his real feelings, and he has an innate ability to make people angry.

“Oh yes, I can be incredibly charming. Who wouldn’t fall for the suave stranger who could sweet talk you into giving away crucial details on a case before you even realized what you were doing?” Peter pulled back with a flash of white teeth. “You wouldn’t believe how many moles I managed to find and how much evidence I uncovered back in the day on sheer charm alone.”

“Unfortunately for you, the charm disappears after people have a chance to get to know you.”

Peter’s grin widened and he let out a loud laugh. “You say that but you’re exactly where I want you now, aren’t you?”

Stiles fought back the flush that threatened to creep up on his face. “I think that speaks more to my bad decision making more than anything.” He paused, waiting for Peter to say something sharp in return. But when nothing came, he said, “So are we having sex yet or…?”

Once again, Peter laughed. Shaking his head and backing away, he said, “Somebody’s eager, aren’t you?” 

“You just backed me into a wall and made out with me. Plus I’m only eighteen, I can’t be held responsible for any libido related problems,” Stiles protested. 

Peter quirked a brow. “I’ll keep that in mind. But, unfortunately for you and your eighteen year old libido related problems.” Ok, Stiles absolutely regretted wording it like that now that Peter said the words aloud. “I just shifted through memories of agonizing, traumatic pain in your mind and — I’m not sure about you — that’s not the sort of thing that gets me in the mood.”

“So then what are we going to do then?” Stiles asked with a slight frown. “If you give me time to actually process what’s happening, I’m pretty sure I’ll be running away.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he said as he turned around and started to walk back towards the couch. “Sit down, Stiles.” He motioned with a hand for Stiles to join him and turned the TV on. 

“Is this seriously turned to the news, how fucking old are you?” Stiles lost his train of thought when his focus drifted to the sudden lights and sounds of the television.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and flopped down on the couch. “If anyone should feel morally conflicted about this, it’s you. I’m not the old man who wants to sleep with a barely legal adult.” Stiles paused and then continued, “But I guess morality hasn’t ever been your strong suit.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I was planning on finding something to watch on Netflix but if I’m such an old man I might as well just put my dentures up and go to bed.” Despite his words, he messed around with the remote to swap the TV from cable over to Netflix. Stiles flopped down on the couch as Peter started flicking through listings.

“Can we watch a slasher?” He asked, hands drumming on his knees. 

“Halloween was two months ago, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “We’re werewolves, our entire lives are Halloween at this point. Put on  _ Scream _ or something.”

Peter sighed and started typing in the title. “Don’t you already deal with high schoolers attempting to kill each other enough in real life?”

“Usually that goes along with supernatural high schoolers trying to kill us with supernatural powers. There’s nothing supernatural in this, just two angry white boys with knives.”

“Fair enough,” Peter said with a shrug. He found the movie listing and set the remote down when it started playing. “Derek freaked out when he heard the phone ring for weeks back when this came out.”

Stiles furrowed his brow. “He couldn’t have been more than like seven back then, did the previews freak him out or something?”

Peter laughed loudly, “Previews? I let him watch it with me when I had to babysit him one night. Talia was so pissed because she was the one who was forced to deal with his nightmares.”

“Ah, right, I forgot the Peter is a horrible person element to the story.” He wanted to ask Derek about his period of being terrified of the phone, but that also sounded like another thing that would get his head slammed into the steering wheel. Even if he healed faster now, Stiles wasn’t too eager to face Derek’s strength.

“It  _ is  _ a rather crucial element of any story,” Peter said with a flash of teeth. He pulled Stiles over so that Stiles was laying on his lap. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar position, not with how tactile the wolf in his brain made him with his pack, but to Stiles, the position felt charged with an energy it hadn’t been with before. “Besides, if I were a better person you’d have none of this.”

Stiles made a face. “You made my sophomore year hell and inadvertently caused every single bad thing that’s happened afterwards. I don’t think reminding me of everything you’re responsible for is a good thing.”

“Life’s a mixed bag, I’m also inadvertently responsible for every good thing that’s happened to you since your sophomore year.” Peter tangled his fingers in Stiles’ hair and scratched, almost making Stiles forget his righteous indignation.

Almost.

“Yeah, no, you’re not taking credit for that.” Even though Stiles didn’t move his head from Peter’s lap because the close contact made the wolf in his head sing, he didn’t want to let Peter think he won. Like, Peter did so much fucked up shit and things only got better because of him and his friends, not because of Peter.

“Well how about we let bygones be bygones. I got my revenge, you lit me on fire, I got Lydia to bring me back to life, and I’ve been an incredibly helpful resource ever since.” Peter let out an amused snort that made Stiles kinda want to punch him. He wondered what it was like to hold your own self image so high up in the air that you lost touch with reality. 

“Wait, Jason wasn’t the killer in _ Friday the 13th _ ?” Stiles asked, half to change the topic and half because he was genuinely surprised. 

Peter looked down at him in shock. “Have you never seen  _ Friday the 13th _ ?”

“It’s been on my list…” Stiles said slowly. And then, more defensively, he continued, “Look, I haven’t exactly had a lot of downtime to watch movies over the last few years.”

Peter groaned loudly and his hand stilled on Stiles’ head. “You’ve at least watched  _ Halloween _ , right?  _ Nightmare on Elm Street _ ?” 

“Yes to  _ Halloween _ , no to  _ Nightmare _ .”

“Christ you’re uncultured, I need to fix this.”

“What happened to your reluctance to watch slashers tonight?” Stiles asked with a laugh.

“What happened is I learned that you haven’t seen the fucking classics. It’s an embarrassment to even be around you like this.” Lightly — or at least, lightly for Peter — Peter whacked him on the back of his head. “I don’t know how you even live with yourself, honestly.”

“I do have quite a hard time sleeping at night,” Stiles said dryly as he rubbed the spot on his head Peter had whacked. “It has to come from the lack of classic slashers in my life as opposed to the horror movie I live in.”

“Couldn’t imagine how that would impact things.”

“Seeing as you probably can’t get to sleep at night without a couple of murders to ease the mind, I’m sure you can’t,” Stiles said with a small laugh. 

“I’d be careful with what you’re saying, after all you’re currently the only person I see and I am getting a little bit tired.” Peter grinned and let his claws slide free to tap Stiles on the forehead. 

“Yeah, like you’d kill me, you’re too attached at this point.”

“Attached? Maybe to the idea of not being run out of town by Scott and his merry gang of mutts.”

Stiles scoffed, offended. All his hesitation and anxiety over Peter being Peter was momentarily forgotten as he said, “No, face it, you’re attached to me. You’re the one who decided to pin me to the wall and kiss me. Pretty sure you’d cry yourself to sleep at night if I died.”

“Feeling cocky, aren’t you?” Peter asked and laughed in a way that Stiles could almost describe as fond. It was a strange sound coming from Peter, it didn’t hold the cold edge that most of his laughs usually came with.

Stiles decided that he liked that sound.

Their conversation quieted down at that point as they both got into watching the movie. As much as Stiles wanted to stay up and watch a few more films after  _ Scream _ , midway through his eyelids started to feel like lead. The lack of sleep he had was finally catching up to him now that he could shut his eyes without remembering the pain of burning alive.

Somehow, he managed to make it to the end of the movie before his eyes refused to stay open any longer. Almost as soon as the credits started to roll, he started to drift off to sleep, still laying with his head resting on Peter’s lap. 

——

When Stiles woke up, he was laying in Peter’s bed. The light from outside was bright enough that Stiles knew that it had to be at least noon, maybe later.

He was alone in the bed and Peter’s smell was so strong and ingrained in everything that it made it hard for Stiles to tell how long he had been gone for. The other side of the bed was cold enough that he could guess that Peter had been out of bed for awhile.

Slowly, Stiles got up and rubbed at his eyes. He hadn’t dreamed at all the entire time he was asleep and that was a shock to him. He was so used to nightmares, ever since the Nogitsune he had nightmares more often than not. But that night there had been nothing but the empty expanse of nothingness. It was a welcome improvement.

It was weird being alone in Peter’s room. He had been there once before, yes, but he still considered it to be largely uncharted territory. It was just so  _ personal _ , the fact that Peter’s smell truly saturated everything really solidified the fact to him that yes, Peter slept in this room. The ereader on his nightstand meant that he probably stayed up at night, reading a few more chapters of whatever novel he was reading at the time before falling asleep.

Stiles’ eyes drifted to the chest that Peter had stopped him from looking around the last time he had been there. Yeah, Peter had stopped him originally from digging into it, but now Stiles was doubly curious. Was it really a collection of various sex toys or did it hold a more sinister purpose? Was it where Peter stored his trophies from serial killing?

To be honest, Stiles wasn’t sure if finding someone’s rotting heart or pinky finger would be more disturbing than seeing a well used fleshlight — or a gigantic dildo bigger than his arm — but his curiosity was piqued. So when he got out of the bed, he immediately made a beeline towards it. The chest didn’t even lock, so really the blame was on Peter for leaving an insecure chest in a room that he left Stiles in.

Opening the chest was as simple as flipping up the latch, pondering if Stiles really wanted to answer the mystery of  _ serial killer trophies or a truly astounding number of sex toys _ , immediately deciding that yes he did indeed want to answer that mystery, and opening the chest. For a split second as he was opening the chest, Stiles pondered a third possibility that the chest held all of Peter’s shameful receipts of good deeds like donating to charities and volunteering his time at the local children’s hospital. But he figured there was no way that Peter would leave behind that type of evidence in anything but the most securely locked safe in the world.

That, and the fact that Peter would probably never do anything like that. But the idea of Peter hiding that sort of evidence as something shameful was enough to make Stiles snort out a small laugh.

In all actuality, the contents of the chest were exactly what Peter had said they were. It was a little disappointing, if Stiles was being honest. Not because there weren’t some crazy extreme toys in there — there absolutely were; some spreader bars, a few different types of handcuffs, several fleshlights, and plenty of other, more extreme options — but because he had gotten his hopes up a little bit too high for the potential serial killer trophies.

Like, come on Peter, you were already a serial killer, did you really not take trophies of all of the people you murdered? Where was the flesh book? Kate Argent’s preserved tongue? The spine of Jennifer Blake?

Slightly disappointed, Stiles closed the chest and walked over to Peter’s bathroom to steal some mouthwash before heading back out to the kitchen. There was still no sign of Peter out there, so Stiles figured he must have gone out to pick up food or something. Shrugging, Stiles took a coke from Peter’s fridge and flopped down on the couch to text Scott for a little while.

He wasn’t quite sure what to tell him. Like, the idea of actually sitting down and telling someone that he and Peter had kissed then cuddled on the couch all night and were probably gonna take a trip to the bone zone at some point made him nervous. Right then, it was a nebulous idea, a secret that was only between him and Peter. He could walk away now and nobody would ever know any better. But telling anybody made it something permanent, it made whatever was going on between Peter and him something real.

Also, he knew that if he told Scott, then Scott was going to tell Isaac. He felt physical pain at the thought of proving Isaac right and already knew that Isaac would never shut up about it. 

He ran through a mental list of other people he could text. Allison? Cons: would absolutely immediately tell Isaac and Scott, wasn’t a fan of Peter. Pros: would probably have some good advice. Malia? Cons: Peter was her father. Pros: she didn’t give a shit about how weird it was that he was her dad. Actually, that probably went into the con pile. Lydia? Cons: would probably have something smart to say just like Isaac. Pros: would absolutely give good advice, wouldn't judge him  _ too _ hard.

The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to tell anyone in his friend group. It was just like, well, it was  _ Peter _ . Literally anybody else in Beacon Hills would be a better idea for him to get fucked by. But also, Peter was hot and genuinely seemed to care for him as much as he could care for anyone not named Peter Hale. He was also funny when he wanted to be and had actual interests in common with Stiles.

Stiles threw his head back and groaned. Of course everyone had a downside to them, but why did Peter’s downside have to be so huge? Usually they were simple things like really bad at organization or couldn’t cook worth a damn. But Peter’s problems were that he had a penchant for murder and manipulation on top of being a power hungry narcissist.

At least on one hand, his quest for power seemed to be over now that he was an alpha again and, to an extent, Stiles and Chris being part of the pack seemed to be enough to stop him from doing anything crazy evil. But the fact that Peter was perfectly happy and willing to do horrible things was always there.

Yes, his main killing spree, Stiles now saw as understandable to a point. But it didn’t change the fact that Peter was willing to go farther than Stiles could ever see himself going.

Stiles sighed quietly. It wasn’t like he could change Peter, and he accepted that fact. He couldn’t change Peter but at the same time, Peter couldn’t change him. At the end of the day, Stiles was more flexible with the law and morality than Scott was but he still had lines he wouldn’t cross. The more he thought about it, the less concerned he was that Peter was somehow going to be able to corrupt him with anything short of clawing his neck, and Peter already had that chance.

It was mostly the thought of what if he got attached and then Peter did something that crossed a line Stiles couldn’t follow. Could he still stay with Peter then? There was a difference between Peter’s habit of doing the worst possible thing being something nebulous, a concept of things that happened or a memory of what happened in the past and Peter actually doing something that Stiles felt was reprehensible in front of him.

But at the same time, was it right to hold Peter’s past crimes against him? It was possible that Peter was done with cruelty for cruelty’s sake. He was still an asshole, yeah, but after his resurrection, Stiles hadn’t seen Peter do anything that crossed any real lines.

Plus, Stiles kinda liked the asshole side to Peter’s personality. As frustrating as it could be at times, Stiles still liked his snide comments and the way that the two of them actually challenged each other. They were equals in a lot of ways and it made butting heads with Peter fun. It was like a game of chess where the two opponents were evenly matched.

Thinking about it made Stiles more confident. Peter was an asshole with a capacity for horrible things but the sides of him that Stiles liked made him fairly certain that he could handle the bad. Plus, it wasn’t like Peter could end up surprising him by turning out to be so much worse than Stiles knew. He wasn’t someone Stiles barely knew who turned out to be a horrible predator underneath a friendly exterior. Peter never hid his bad parts, never pretended to be anything other than who he was.

Stiles pulled out his phone, but instead of going to text anyone, he just opened up youtube. He decided that he would just watch some videos as he waited for Peter to return.

——

“You’re still here?” Peter asked with mock surprise when he came back to his apartment, a couple of hours later. He had a few bags in his arms from the bougie grocery store a few blocks away Stiles and Scott liked to make fun of.

“You kinda kidnapped me from school and I didn’t exactly feel like walking five miles back to my house,” Stiles said dryly.

“Hm, I suppose I did.” Peter set the bags down on his counter and began sorting through the groceries. “How many of my personal belongings did you decide to search through?”

“What makes you think that I’d look through anything?”

Peter raised a brow as he set a bunch of bananas on the counter. “Every time I’ve left you alone for not even five minutes you’ve decided to dig through my stuff.” He pulled out some boxes of pasta and a bag of rice and walked over to his pantry before he continued. “So, what did you look through this time?”

“I wanted to see if you were secretly hiding evidence of your good deeds, trophies from your serial killing, or if you were actually being serious about that chest in your bedroom having your sex toys in it,” Stiles admitted slowly.

“And was your curiosity satiated?” Peter asked.

“I was actually pretty disappointed that it was exactly what you said and wasn’t a collection of your trophies. I was hoping to see a preserved tongue or something.”

“So sorry to disappoint,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. He emptied out a bag onto the counter that held a head of cabbage, some apples, a red onion, and two pork chops. “I prefer to leave as little evidence of my crimes behind and unfortunately, trophies tend to be fairly damning evidence.”

Well, fair point, but still, not a fun point. “Do I want to know why you have a set of sounding rods?” Stiles asked as he watched Peter grab a cutting board and a large knife. 

“Because I’ve used them on men I’ve picked up in the past?” Peter set the head of cabbage down on the cutting board and began to slice into it. “No, obviously it’s because I like to waste space with tools I’ll never use.”

“Wow, okay, sorry for asking.”

“Ask better questions if you want better answers,” Peter replied. “You’re a smart boy, I’m sure you can use your brain to understand the purpose of things.”

“I was curious,” Stiles protested. “It’s not like my library of sex toy experience is that great when my dad’s the sheriff. I can’t exactly hide things anywhere.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Peter said, putting the cabbage to the side and grabbing the red onion. He looked over to Stiles as he cut up the onion. “Anything you want me to use on you?”

The words were said casually, like Peter had asked his opinion on what he was cooking for dinner, not like he was asking Stiles if he wanted to stick metal rods up his dickhole or if he wanted to be tied up as Peter fucked him. “I—” he stammered, mouth dry. “I don’t know? Maybe?”

Peter’s lips twitched. “It’s like you’re a virgin, how cute. We’ll take our time and experiment, how does that sound?”

Holy shit. “That sounds, uh, I think it sounds pretty good.” Stiles was fairly certain his face was flushed beet red. Peter was just so casual about it all. He should have been offended by the way Peter said he was like a virgin — because he wasn’t, thank you very much, he and Malia had plenty of sex when they were together — but for some reason, he wasn’t offended. Turned on was a better descriptor.

God, he was fucked, wasn’t he?

The twitching of Peter’s lips turned into a full smirk. “After dinner, I think we’ll see just how far you’re willing to go.”

——

Stiles’ heart pounded in his chest as Peter wrapped his hands around his wrists. The reality of the situation was catching up with him. He was naked. On Peter Hale’s bed. About to have sex. As much as he had brought himself to accept that yeah, Peter was someone he wanted to be with, this was a big step. It wasn’t like he thought that having sex with someone was some sacred boundary that you could only ever cross with The Love Of Your Life. It was just that it really solidified as something really that was actually happening.

“Stop thinking,” Peter murmured in his ear. “I don’t want to spend my night talking you down from a panic attack because you overthink everything.”

“Romantic.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic, I’m trying to get my dick wet.” Peter flipped him over and rested a hand on the small of his back. “And the idea of getting blue balled because you suddenly convinced yourself that sleeping with me would somehow corrupt and ruin you is particularly unappealing.”

“Ah, because I suppose it’s just you getting off that matters?”

“Oh I assure you that it’ll be mutually beneficial.” Peter’s hand trailed down his back to cup the swell of his ass and Stiles heard the click of the cap of a bottle of lube. “Are you done with your morality crisis yet or do I have to persuade you further?”

Ok, so Stiles wasn’t completely over his morality crisis — as Peter put it — but the firm pressure of Peter’s hand was nearly all the persuasion Stiles needed. Well, at the very least, it was all of the persuasion that his dick needed. 

“And how exactly would you persuade me?” Stiles asked.

“I’d stab my claws into the back of your neck and make you forget that you ever cared about silly things like morality and the law,” Peter said with a slight chuckle. When Stiles tried to kick at him, Peter caught his ankle with his free hand and took the opportunity to spread out his legs further. “That, or I’d stretch you on my fingers until you were screaming my name, begging me to fuck you.”

Stiles swallowed, mouth suddenly dry thanks to Peter’s words. “I don’t think you could make me beg for anything,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Sweetheart you’re halfway to begging already and I’ve hardly even touched you,” Peter purred. With a featherlight touch he ran his fingers down Stiles’ embarrassingly hard cock and back up to his ass. Without even having to look at Peter, Stiles knew that his teeth were bared in a predatory grin. 

“I’ll tie you down and force you to beg someday,” Peter mused as he squeezed some lube onto his hand. “You’d look gorgeous, crying and screaming my name, begging for me to stop or to touch you more while I milk you dry. But that won’t be today.”

By the time Peter slid in the first finger, Stiles felt like he was going to explode. It was overwhelming in a way with how it solidified that yes, he was going to have sex with Peter and it was now too late to back out and still be untouched. But also it wasn’t enough, Peter had riled him up — sue him, he was eighteen and he has been turned on by far weirder things in the past — and he  _ needed  _ more.

Despite that, Peter seemed content to take his time, slowly stretching Stiles open. With one hand, he pressed down on Stiles back, keeping him firmly planted and still as he rubbed at his inner walls. He kept up a slow, steady pace, only ever barely brushing Stiles’ prostate. It was just enough to keep Stiles interested, but never enough to crescendo into anything even vaguely resembling release.

It was maddening.

But Peter didn’t seem to be intending on making him beg that day. After he apparently decided that Stiles was ready, he slid in a second finger. He kept up that slow pace while adding in a scissoring motion with the two fingers. The added stretch made Stiles’ breath hitch and he felt, rather than heard, the rumble of Peter’s chuckle at that.

“I wonder how much I could fill you with before you’d beg for me to stop,” Peter murmured into his ear as he gently pressed at his prostate. “I could train you to take my whole fist one day, I bet you’d look gorgeous all stretched out with my hand in you.”

“Ghh,  _ fuck _ ,” Stiles groaned. He had never thought too hard about fisting before. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about it at all. But the way Peter spoke in his ear made his cock jump. Shit, if all those years ago, Peter had been fingers deep in him while offering the bite, Stiles doubted that he would have been capable of refusing.

“I could do anything to you right now. Couldn’t I?” Peter apparently was capable of reading minds, that or Stiles’ thoughts were just that obvious. Lightly, with the barest hint of fangs, Peter nipped at Stiles’ neck as he slid a third finger into him. “Absolutely perfect.”

Even without getting his dick touched, Stiles felt like he was going to come embarrassingly fast all thanks to Peter’s words. The slightly dangerous edge to the filthy words was almost enough to set him off. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last when Peter actually decided to fuck him.

“And what would you do to me?” Stiles asked, trying to buck into Peter’s touch. 

Peter grinned against his skin. “Oh I’d utterly ruin you.” He twisted his fingers in Stiles, drawing out a gasp. “Make it so you’d be mine forever.” He bit down hard enough that Stiles knew he drew blood. It was painful but the pain only faintly registered, nerves all confused and overloaded. “You’ve been mine for ages already.”

Any other time Stiles would have taken the time to argue that point. Because, uh, hello? Peter? What the actual fuck kind of thing to say to a person is that? Like, the problem there was that Stiles knew Peter absolutely meant that one hundred percent. But also, he was really horny and the possessive tone to Peter’s voice was really hot at the moment. So he let Peter get away with that shit, sue him.

“I’d mark you up so that everyone knows who you belong to,” Peter continued as he pulled his fingers out of Stiles. He flipped Stiles over and Stiles could see how his eyes were almost purple with how the alpha red was leeching through. “You’d let me do it, hm?”

The answering, “Yes,” was punched out of Stiles when Peter wrapped his hand around his cock. That single touch was nearly all it took to push Stiles over the edge and it took all of his willpower not to come from that single touch.

Stiles could actually see the predatory grin that stretched across Peter’s face that time. It was smug and self-satisfied, something that Stiles wanted equally to punch and kiss. “Good boy,” he murmured as he stroked Stiles’ cock a few times before hoisting one of Stiles’ legs up and over his shoulder and grabbing his own cock.

With a satisfied sigh, Peter slowly slid into Stiles. Even after the preparation, Stiles still hissed quietly at the stretch. It wasn’t painful, but it danced on the edge of too much. But Peter seemed content to take it just as slow as he had when he stretched Stiles out. 

The look on Peter’s face was gorgeous, gone were any cruel lines or smirks, replaced with closed eyes and a slightly open mouth. He looked almost angelic like that, as if Michaelangelo could have referenced him in the Sistine Chapel. 

But any thoughts deeper than that were pushed from Stiles’ mind as Peter began to rock his hips. “ _ Shit _ ,” Stiles grunted out, fingers twisting in the sheets. The movements were still slow and controlled, but after so long of what felt like teasing, Peter finally was fucking him for real.

As he thrusted into Stiles, Peter began to pick up speed and intensity. He never seemed to go at a pace past languidly, but even then it was like nothing else Stiles had ever experienced. And in a way, it was. In the past, he had experimented with dildos and his own fingers, but it was nothing like the real thing. Peter reached angles he never could and the difference a warm body had was everything.

Peter’s hands were firm around his ankle and waist and the slapping sound of skin on skin was loud as Peter fucked into him. The way he would purposefully ignore Stiles’ prostate only to ram into it was maddening and Stiles was embarrassed by some of the noises it dragged out of him.

All the while, Peter was murmuring how gorgeous he looked, how perfect he was. A running stream of praise left Peter’s lips, interrupted only by grunts and groans as Stiles tightened around him at the overwhelming sensations of finally,  _ finally _ getting fucked. 

Stiles was pulled over the edge when Peter wrapped a hand around his cock and began to slowly stroke it. His eyes screwed shut and his hips jerked as he groaned out, “Shit, fuck,  _ Peter _ .”

“That’s it, you can come for me,” Peter said quietly, rubbing his thumb against the head of Stiles’ cock. 

Those words pushed Stiles over the edge and his back arched as he splattered his belly with cum. He saw stars as he came, overstimulated as he was by everything. It was all so much and his mind just totally went blank for a moment as his body came down from the high Peter brought it to.

Peter came not long after Stiles did, hips jackrabbiting in as Stiles clenched around him. He came with a grunt and his hips stilled, filling Stiles up with his seed. For a long moment, he stayed still like that, hard cock slowly softening after release.

When he did pull out, Stiles felt almost empty, but he didn’t feel that way for long. Not when Peter replaced his cock with his fingers, dragging the cum that leaked out back into his used hole.

“Holy shit, Peter,” Stiles said as he flopped over, leg off of Peter’s shoulder.

“Imagine how long we could have been doing that for,” Peter replied. He pulled his fingers out of Stiles’ ass and brought them to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles hardly even thought as he did what Peter seemed to want and sucked on them. The taste of the mixture of lube and cum wasn’t exactly his favorite thing, but he lathed his tongue around Peter’s thick fingers anyway.

“Mm,” Stiles grunted around the fingers. He wanted to remind Peter that they couldn’t have been fucking for ages anyway, not with how he hadn’t even been eighteen for eight months yet. But the fingers in his mouth prevented him from speaking which was fine with him, he didn’t really want to ruin the afterglow.

Peter ran his free hand down Stiles’ belly, through the trail of cum his release left. “When you’re ready, we’ll do that again.”

To Stiles, nothing sounded better at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the fic lives up to the explicit rating LOL  
I thought about breaking this up into two chapters, because originally I had thought about having a chapter of Stiles sorting out his feelings about Peter before they went to the bone zone, but decided to just put it into one, fairly large chapter.  
The fic is almost done!!! Next chapter is gonna wrap things up. Thanks everyone for sticking with me throughout this <3


	22. Epilogue

Lydia knew there was something going on between Peter and Stiles even before the whole dryad incident. Well, to phrase that better, she knew that Peter was far too interested in Stiles for that interest to be anything platonic and she also knew that if Peter made a move, Stiles was going to go along with it.

So when Peter kidnapped Stiles for the weekend, she threw her ten bucks into the pot that there was no way that weekend would end without Stiles getting fucked. She probably should have felt bad for betting on whether or not one of her best friends was going to sleep with but even Derek — reluctantly — threw in some cash, so, honestly? She really didn’t feel all that awful.

Pretty much everyone aside from Liam and Kira put their cash in the same pot that she did. Kira didn’t because she abstained from the bet, feeling too weird about betting on her friend’s sex life, especially as it pertained to one Peter Hale. Which, ok, totally fair. Lydia couldn’t blame her for that.

The fact that only Liam betted against Stiles sleeping with Peter that weekend meant that everyone was pretty much gaining a single dollar, but really the dollar amount didn’t matter. It was more of the principle of the matter. Less of trying to earn money on Stiles’ sex life and more of everyone making sure that they were on the same page. That page being that Stiles was about to sleep with his ex’s dad and that everyone was fine with it.

Like, Stiles sleeping with Peter was a weird concept. Lydia had never really fully forgiven him for the whole making the end of her sophomore year a waking nightmare where she couldn’t tell dream from reality and ended in her drugging her friends and resurrecting him. But also she couldn’t totally blame him for it. She didn’t really want to die either, but it was still a completely asshole move.

But the thing that Lydia and Peter had in common was that they both were watchers. They watched, waited, listened, and observed before they made a move. They were pragmatic, doing what they had to in order to make it through. So even if Lydia never could truly forgive Peter for using her, she respected him in some way.

She couldn’t respect his decisions, but she respected his mind. He was smarter than most people in any room and he knew how to use those smarts. She also respected the way he protected those he loved. She was more neutral towards the whole murder spree that took up sophomore year than most of the pack. She hadn’t been involved until the end.

Peter killed who he needed to kill. From what she knew, they all deserved to die. He got his vengeance with minimal collateral damage. In a strictly pragmatic sense, he had done what was necessary.

Of course, she also understood that the way he had gone about everything was fucked up and that there was something deeply wrong with the man. But what she also understood was that Stiles knew that. It wasn’t like Stiles was stupid or blind — quite the opposite in fact, he saw through her old farce before anyone else had. And if anyone could balance out Peter’s… Peter-ness, it was probably Stiles.

All things considered, she trusted Stiles to make the correct choice, so if he decided that choice was to get together with Peter, she’d support him. And if she’d support him, so would everyone else. Easy as that.

“Should we get a cake that says ‘It’s okay that you’re sleeping with my biodad!’ or something?” Malia asked, looking up from the math problems Lydia had been helping her out with. 

“Maybe a card, we can get everyone to sign it,” Lydia replied with a laugh. She could picture the look that Stiles would get on his face as soon as he saw either of those. 

But really though, she was happy for him. He had moved on from her crush on her ages ago —she loved him, but as a friend and nothing more, and he accepted that— and he deserved someone who would treat him well. Despite all of Peter’s issues, when he cared about someone, he would tear apart heaven and hell for them.

And if anyone deserved someone who would do that for them, it was Stiles. 

——

Chris wasn’t sure quite what to expect when Peter showed up to his apartment Saturday morning. Hell, he hadn’t even been expecting Peter to show up there at all. When he heard the sound of Peter’s car in the parking lot he pinched the bridge of his nose, already preparing for the incoming headache. Those tended to follow Peter closely, especially when he showed up unannounced and unplanned.

All he had wanted was a relaxing weekend to watch some football and work on a new crossbow prototype, not deal with Peter drama. He was glad that Allison was out spending the weekend at Lydia’s at the very least. Allison still hated Peter, not without reason, and the two being in the apartment together just spelled trouble to him.

With a final, longing glance at ESPN, Chris turned off his TV and moved the crossbow pieces off of his desk. Even if Peter’s visit was short, he was ready for the results of it to take up the rest of his weekend. He didn’t know if there was a pack coming into town who had some bad blood with Peter or if there was a second wave of dryads coming this time with two unicorns and fire extinguishers, but whatever it was going to be a pain in the ass.

Sometimes he really wished that he hadn’t been born into a hunting family.

Peter didn’t bother knocking. He just let himself into the apartment — through the door Chris knew he had locked. “Christopher, I have something we should discuss.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Is the topic why exactly you have a key to my house?”

“That’s unimportant.” Peter strolled into his office, shaking his head. “We’re pack, of course I have a key to your house.”

“A key I didn’t give you.”

“Wonderful, we’re on the same page then. Now, for the actual important topic at hand, I wanted you to know that I’m going to fuck Stiles this weekend.”

Chris froze, then blinked, and blinked again. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you.”

“I’m expecting that we won’t be having any problems between the two of us about this,” Peter continued on as if Chris hadn’t spoken.

“Okay, Peter, can we roll things back first?” Yeah, the Peter headache was absolutely beginning to rear its head. “Maybe start with a, ‘Hello, good morning,’ and then ending with why you decided it’s imperative that you tell me you’re about to sleep with Stiles ‘Barely Legal Son of the Sheriff’ Stilinski.”

“There’s no such thing as barely legal. He’s a consenting adult.” Peter waved his hand, as if that cleared up the issue.

“Is there a reason you’re telling me if you obviously don’t want to hear my opinion as to why I think this is a terrible idea?” Chris asked, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

“I’m telling you because I’m extending the courtesy of letting you know beforehand in case you had any plans of taking him for yourself.” Peter paused and fixed Chris with a look. “And don’t make any excuses or feign offense; we both know you’re interested in the boy.”

The look in Peter’s eyes became something dangerous as he asked in a low voice, “So tell me, Christopher, will we have any problems if I fuck Stiles?”

“We’re not going to have a problem.” The difference between him and Peter seemed to be in their intent to act on desires. Lying to himself was pointless, he  _ was _ interested in Stiles in a way that left him conflicted. But the conflict he felt stopped him from making any moves like Peter.

He trusted Stiles to kick Peter’s shit in if he didn’t want whatever Peter was so sure that he wanted. Hell, he even trusted Peter to take care of the kid. Even if he was a complete pain in Chris’s ass nuisance, Peter had proven that he cared about Stiles more than pretty much anyone else.

But he still couldn’t quite feel happy about it all.

——

Derek didn’t want to think about his uncle having sex.

Derek especially didn’t want to think about his uncle having sex with Stiles. 

But unfortunately the universe didn’t give a single damn about what he wanted because Peter and Stiles were fucking. Really, he should have seen it coming, he had seen Peter’s partners in the past and Stiles lined up with their general characteristics. The thing was, he didn’t want to think about it, so he ignored it until he couldn’t any longer.

“Don’t you have somewhere else you can have your Friday night hangout sessions at?” Derek scowled at the assembled group of teenagers who had invaded his loft while he was out grocery shopping. He wasn’t actually mad to see them. But really, he had a cell phone, they could just text him they were coming over.

“Peter kidnapped Stiles after school and we’re betting on if he’s getting his cherry popped this weekend,” Isaac spoke up, motioning to the pile of cash in front of him.

Derek’s lips formed a thin line and he let out a displeased huff of air from his nose. “Do I want to know why there seems to be only one pool of cash?” Suddenly, he was feeling like personally escorting all of the teens from his property.

“Because everyone but Dunbar thinks that they’re probably already fucking.” Ah, there was another pile of cash. By pile, he actually meant a single ten dollar bill that he assumed was just the pile being a disorganized mess.

“And you thought my place was the best location to bet on my uncle’s sex life why exactly?” He was regretting ever coming back to Beacon Hills.

“Because after we put our bets down we’re gonna watch  _ Gone Girl _ and  _ The Lego Movie  _ and you have the best place for that.” Thanks to us forcing you to buy a big TV and expensive sound system was what Scott didn’t add. Fuck, the problem keeping him from kicking everybody out was that he actually did really want to watch  _ Gone Girl. _

“For the record, I abstained, you can too,” Kira added. 

“I would like everyone here, except for Kira, to know that I hate each and every one of you.” Derek threw himself down onto the couch and closed his eyes in pain. Was  _ Gone Girl  _ really worth the mental anguish of thinking about Peter’s sex life?

“It’s really cute how you think we believe that,” Isaac said with a laugh. “Give me the ten bucks, Hale.”

Derek rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t want to think about this, so he put as little thought in it as possible. If Peter wanted something, he usually got it, so he said, “Put it in the pile. Can we just watch the damn movie now?”

He tried to ignore the loud laughter that surrounded him. At least the pack was having fun and acting like normal teenagers for once, a chance that was ripped from him. If he thought about that, he wanted to die a little bit less thinking about Peter with Stiles Stilinski of all people.

But, hey, maybe Stiles could bring a little bit of humanity to Peter. That wouldn’t be so bad, in the past Peter was always better when he was seeing someone.

He just prayed Peter didn’t take it upon himself to barge into his loft and tell him all about his sexual conquest.

——

Stiles decided that he made a pretty decent decision when Sunday was mostly spent with Peter’s dick in his ass, his dick in Peter’s mouth, or Peter’s dick in his mouth. Yeah, he could get used to this.

“I feel like you’re treating me like a night walker,” Stiles said in the early evening as he watched Peter walk around, still totally naked. “I’m a proper lady who usually requires that I be taken on at least two dates before I put out.”

“Are you now?” Peter asked, mock surprise on his face. “I guess I’ll be keeping the hundred bucks I was gonna give you on the way out for your services.”

“Only one hundred? Please, I’m worth at least five hundred.” Stiles paused and shook his head, “Scratch that, with everything I’ve done it’s at least a thousand now.”

“With your technique? Hardly. We’ll work on it, but the fact of the matter is nobody would pay top dollar for a prostitute who gives as horrible a blowjob as you do.” Peter scratched at his chest before he grabbed a shirt and put it on. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve never been with a dude before. I’ll try and retroactively get some dick sucking experience to add to my resume.” Stiles rolled over on the bed, taking over the space Peter had vacated. 

“I’d see to it if I were you,” Peter said with a laugh. “Now put on some clothes, we’re going out.”

“Wow, are you about to properly court me, Mr. Hale?” Stiles tried his best attempt at a posh English accent and it fell rather short.

Peter looked at him flatly as he put on a pair of pants. “No, I was planning on taking you out to the woods and murdering you.”

“Where are we going?” Stiles still didn’t get up, Peter’s bed was comfortable as hell. “Are we going to one of those restaurants where you have to wear a tuxedo and you don’t even get a menu?”

Peter barked out a loud laugh. “God, you’re hysterical Stiles. We’re going on a picnic of sorts.”

“A picnic? That’s surprisingly domestic, suspiciously domestic even.” Stiles paused and raised his brows at Peter. “I am now thinking that you were telling the truth when you said you’re gonna take me to the woods and murder me.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, guess you’ll just have to find out.” Peter tossed some of his own clothes at Stiles. “Put them on and be ready to go in ten minutes or else I’m dragging you out ass naked.”

“You really are the king of romance, aren’t you?” With a groan of effort, Stiles managed to force himself up and off the bed. It should have been obvious before grabbing them, but wow Peter’s clothes smelled so much like the man. It made the wolf in Stiles’ head wag its tail so hard that Stiles felt dizzy.

Mercifully, if Peter noticed the way that Stiles practically shoved the clothes down his throat to smell them, he didn’t comment on it. All he said was, “You get to make the choice between buried in a shallow grave or having a nice picnic in the Preserve. Take more than five minutes and you get the first option.” With that, he headed out of the bedroom before Stiles could throw a pillow at him.

Yeah, Peter was still pretty much a miserable asshole but damn did he suck dick well. That and he was also pretty funny and sweet in his own way. Sure, Stiles had to sort through a hundred different layers of sass and dickishness to get to that sweet layer, but really, that was the fun of it.

All in all, Stiles was actually pretty satisfied.

——

Scott was happy for Stiles. 

Really, he was.

He couldn’t say that he understood what Stiles saw in Peter but he understood that the two somehow worked in some weird way. They balanced each other out and, hey, if it kept Peter from enacting any more crazy schemes of vengeance that he inevitably got dragged into, he was fine with it.

“Your weekend go okay?” He asked Stiles on Monday as they walked into the school together. “Was Peter able to help with everything?”

“Oh, uh—“ an embarrassed flush crept up Stiles’ neck and Scott immediately had an idea about what went down. Look, he’s known Stiles his entire life and understood him better than just about anybody. “Yeah, he actually did help.”

“Nice, what’d he do?”

Scott wanted to laugh at how Stiles so obviously was dying inside. Keeping secrets had never been his strong suit, especially ones about himself. He could almost see the gears turning in Stiles’ mind as he tried to come up with a convincing lie. “Well, he did the claw thing and — uh — well then we watched  _ Scream _ and then we just, you know, we just hung out and stuff.”

“Do I want to know what the ‘and stuff’ was?” It was so hard to keep a straight face. He wanted to let Stiles out of his misery and tell him it’s cool that they fucked, but also this was pretty funny and Scott deserved some humor in his life.

“Wow, look at the time, I gotta get going to first period. I’ll talk to you later!” Stiles tried to run off and Scott grabbed him by the arm.

“We have first period together, remember?” Scott raised his eyebrows and couldn’t hold in the laugh. “Dude, you realize you’re literally the worst at keeping things secret, right?”

Stiles threw back his head and let out the mother of all groans. “Fine. We had sex, we went to the bone zone, we played hide the—”

“Okay, okay, I got it dude.” Scott paused and nudged Stiles with his shoulder. “You know none of us are judging you for this right?”

“Oh my god, that makes it worse. You realize you should be totally, absolutely judging me for it, right? I mean, it’s Peter of all people. Peter Hale, the root of all evil, Beacon Hills’ favorite evil mastermind.” Stiles threw his hands up in the air and leaned against a wall in defeat.

“I mean Derek dated the literal serial killer Jennifer Blake for a while, she was objectively worse than Peter, so it’s not like you picked the absolute worst person to screw around with,” Scott pointed out. “Anyway, he was actually like seriously worried about you back during the whole dryad thing.”

“Thanks for letting me know that I am making an only moderately better choice in partner than Derek tends to make,” Stiles said dryly. 

“I’m just saying, Peter’s a shitty dude but he’s less shitty with you around.” Scott shrugged and leaned against the wall with Stiles. “You absolutely deserve someone with less sociopathic tendencies than Peter, but he’s good looking and obviously cares about you.”

He paused and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you could really do a lot worse than him.”

“I just don’t know how I’m gonna tell my dad. Like, first off the only things he really knows about Peter are that he used to be some hotshot lawyer, his entire family was murdered, and then surprise! He’s a werewolf! Oh, and he actually was behind all those deaths everyone thought were animal attacks a few years back.” Stiles’ tone got increasingly more frantic before he ended with, “And the worst part is that dad’s only a few years older than him. How am I going to look my father in the eyes when he knows that I’m getting fucked by a murderous werewolf who he went to high school with?”

Scott didn’t mean to laugh but he couldn’t hold it back. “I can’t help you there dude, I have been a very good son and have only slept with girls in my age bracket.”

“You’re an absolute saint, aren’t you Scotty boy?”

“Damn right I am, I’m a true alpha after all,” Scott said with a lopsided grin. “But seriously Stiles, it’s cool that you and Peter are…” were they a couple? Fuck buddies? He decided the safest option was, “A thing. Just, probably tell Derek as few details as possible. Friday night when we were betting on this, I think he was about to have a heart attack.”

Stiles’ head whipped in his direction. “Betting on this?”

Scott blanched. “Wow, would you look at the time, I gotta get going to first period! I’ll talk to you later!” And then, as every true alpha should, he ran as fast as he could away from Stiles who followed closely on his tail.

——

Peter was satisfied. It really was an odd feeling for him to have, he couldn’t quite be sure when the last time he felt satisfied was.

He  _ should _ have felt satisfied when he finally killed Kate and avenged the deaths of his family. But instead, he mostly felt empty. Emptiness had been a constant companion to him throughout his entire life. Occasionally, he briefly felt flickers of emotions and feelings, but they all inevitably crumbled back into that dark, suffocating void.

Even the burning rage and fury he felt for those six long years eventually fell back to the apathetic nothingness after he tore out Kate’s throat. Then he experienced a level of nothingness like he had never felt before, the pitch black empty expanse of death from which he held onto the mortal realm from Lydia Martin’s fragile mind.

But coming back from the dead didn’t somehow magically cure his apathy, though it brought the fragmented pieces of his mind, ripped apart by the fire, back together. So Peter did what he always did, he schemed and he planned, always looking for fleeting amusements to briefly fill the void where his feelings should have been. Bothering Derek was amusing, riling up Scott McCall even more.

But what he had enjoyed the most was Stiles.

And so in all of his schemes he thought up, all of his plots for power, all of his ways to try and fill the void with something, anything, Peter included Stiles. He liked the way the boy challenged him. Derek was contented by a simple, ‘Peter shut the fuck up,’ but Stiles always had to make sure he knew why exactly what he said was so messed up.

Peter didn’t know how long the feeling of satisfaction would stay before it eventually washed away like sand on the beach, returning back to his baseline of apathetic boredom. He didn’t know if it would stay for days or weeks, hours or minutes, years or seconds. But he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

He watched as Stiles slept next to him, arms tangled around a pillow and he smiled. It was a slight, small smile but it was a genuine one. He had what he wanted, he was an alpha again, he had a strong pack, and he had Stiles. 

He wasn’t quite sure if he could describe what he felt for Stiles as love. That was a pure feeling, one that promised things like trying to better himself for Stiles and continuing to grow and evolve. Growing and evolving, bettering himself, Peter didn’t try and kid himself by thinking those were things he was capable of. He was still the same man he was when he got Ennis to turn Derek’s little human girlfriend because he was bored and wanted to see what would happen. He knew that there was as equal a chance of Stiles realizing that Peter was an empty man who filled the void with capricious, selfish acts as there was Stiles staying with him, accepting Peter flaws and all.

He could never promise things he wasn’t capable of, could never promise to be the selfless, caring partner Stiles probably deserved. But he could promise that he’d stay with Stiles for however long the boy would have him for.

Peter was a man who was burned and broken, who learned to fill the void of apathy with cruelty. He accepted that fact, but he also understood that Stiles made him feel a little more whole, a little less ruined. Even if he wasn’t capable of growing and changing, he cared for Stiles more than he cared for almost anyone else. That meant something, at least it did to him. 

He laid back down and wrapped his arms around Stiles before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He cared for Stiles and Stiles cared for him. He could spend the entire day, could spend his entire life, musing over the philosophies of what it meant to truly love another person or how caring for people actually worked when you weren’t sure if you had the capacity for that. But when everything came crashing down, he was happier with Stiles than he could remember being in a long time.

And at the end of the day, could he really ask for more than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE, LIKE 110K WORDS LATER IT'S DONE  
Thank you to everyone who read all of this!!! It was a train whose tracks I was laying down a fraction of an inch before I got to the end of them (really, my plan for this fic was "I want stiles and peter to get together" and that was it. nothing was planned or outlined because I'm a disaster LOL) so it makes me happy that people stuck around to read all of it.
> 
> Also, if you want this to be a strictly steter thing you can consider this finished here, but if you're a slut for stetopher I'll be writing a followup at some point soon where chris also gets to fuck the twink because dammit he deserves it

**Author's Note:**

> So here's how I got into Teen Wolf: I saw Peter, found out that he's a terrible man, went "oh no my type" and I live in this garbage now.  
I feel like if there's a ship with a morally questionable (or downright awful) older man manipulating and fucking a younger dude I'm just going to be drawn to it at some point. I'm entirely predictable lmfao... Also the entire time I've been writing this fic I've been having to tell myself "no you're not writing an ot3 fic yet meg" because goddamn do I want Chris and Peter to still loathe each other but both be equally invested and interested in Stiles.  
Next fic I guess lmao.  
I have no clue how many chapters this will be but I guess we'll find out.  
\----  
Find me online on [ my main twitter](https://twitter.com/smalls2233) or [my NSFW twitter](https://twitter.com/smallsnsfw)


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